THE  LIBRARY  / 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

IN  MEMORY  OF 
MRS.  VIRGINIA  B.  SPORER 


THE   CONSCRIPT 

A  STORY  OF  THE  FRENCH  WAR  OF  1813 


WAR  AND  GLORY. 


THE   CONSCRIPT 


A  STORY  OF  THE  FRENCH  WAR  OF  1813 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  FRENCH  OF 

ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN 


ILLUSTRATED 


COPYRIGHT,  1868,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER  &  CO. 


COPYRIGHT,  1889  AND  1898, 
Bv  CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

WAR  AND  GLORY, Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

MONSIEUR  GOULDEN, 4 

THE  DRAGOON  FELL  HEAVILY, 10 

"COME,  MY  CHILDREN;  TO  TABLE!"  .  .  .  .24 
"  WHO  GOES  THERE  ? " 32 

THEY  RELATED,  WITH  MAJESTIC  AIR,  THEIR  BATTLES,  THEIR 

MARCHES,  AND  THEIR  DUELS, 78 

"  LOOK  YONDER," 86 

"  CLOSE  UP  THE  RANKS  ! " 134 

EVERYTHING  GAVE  WAY  BEFORE  HIM,  .  .  .  .162 
WE  SAW  HIM  STANDING  ON  A  TABLE,  ....  198 
IN  THE  RIVER  THE  DEAD  WERE  FLOATING  BY  IN  FILES,  .  254 
«  HALT  I  STOP  I"  .  278 


2041939 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE 

INSTEAD  of  following  "  Madame  Therese  "  with 
stories  celebrating  the  victories  of  Napoleon  and 
thus  appealing  to  their  compatriots'  love  of  glory 
and  military  illusions,  MM.  Erckmann-Chatrian 
take  up  next  the  tragic  and  far  more  significant  story 
of  1812-13.  With  "  The  Conscript  "  begins  their 
long,  sustained,  and  eloquent  sermon  against  war 
and  war-wagers — the  exordium,  so  to  say,  of  their 
arraignment  of  Napoleon  for  wanton  and  insatiate 
love  of  conquest.  "  The  Conscript  "  is  certainty  one 
of  the  most  impressive  statements  of  the  darker  side 
of  the  national  pursuit  of  military  glory  that  have 
ever  been  made.  The  first  part  of  the  book  is  taken 
up  with  a  vivid  and  pathetic  account  of  the  passage 
of  the  grande  armee  through  Alsace  on  its  way  to 
Moscow  and  the  Beresina,  of  the  anxious  waiting 
for  news  of  the  battles  that  succeeded,  of  the  first 
suspicions  of  disaster  and  their  overwhelming  con- 
firmation, of  the  final  rout  and  awful  straggling  re- 
treat and  return  of  the  great  expedition,  and  its 
vtt 


viii  INTRODUCTORY  NOTE 

demoralized  and  harassed  entry  within  the  national 
frontiers  once  more.  The  second  and  major  portion 
narrates  the  rude  surprise  of  the  continuation  of 
warfare  and  the  still  more  fatal  campaign  which 
opened  so  dubiously  with  Lutzen  and  Bautzen,  and 
culminated  so  disastrously  in  Leipsic  and  the  capitu- 
lation of  Paris.  Poor  Joseph  Bertha,  who  tells  the 
affecting  and  exciting  sto.y,  is  snatched  away  from 
his  betrothed  and  his  peaceful  trade  by  the  conscrip- 
tion, and  his  individual  experiences  in  the  campaign 
are  as  interesting,  from  the  point  of  view  of  ro- 
mance, as  their  representative  nature  and  his  shrewd 
and  simple  reflections  upon  them  are  historically  and 
philanthropically  suggestive.  Certainly,  war,  in  the 
minutisB  of  its  reality,  has  never  been  more  graph- 
ically painted  than  in  "  The  Conscript  of  1813." 


THE  STORY  OF  A  CONSCRIPT 


THOSE  who  have  not  seen  the  glory  of  the  Em- 
peror Napoleon,  during  the  years  1810,  1811,  and 
1812,  can  never  conceive  what  a  pitch  of  power  one 
man  may  reach. 

When  he  passed  through  Champagne,  or  Lor- 
raine, or  Alsace,  people  gathering  the  harvest  or 
the  vintage  would  leave  everything  to  run  and  see 
him;  women,  children,  and  old  men  would  come 
a  distance  of  eight  or  ten  leagues  to  line  his  route, 
and  cheer  and  cry,  "  Vive  VEmpereur!  Vive  VEin- 
percur!  "  One  would  think  that  he  was  a  god,  that 
mankind  owed  its  life  to  him,  and  that,  if  he  died, 
the  world  would  crumble  and  be  no  more.  A  few 
old  Republicans  would  shake  their  heads  and  mutter 
over  their  wine  that  the  Emperor  might  yet  fall, 
but  they  passed  for  fools.  Such  an  event  appeared 
contrary  to  nature,  and  no  one  even  gave  it  a 
thought. 


2  THE   STORY    OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

I  was  in  my  apprenticeship  since  1804,  with  an 
old  watchmaker,  Melchior  Goulden,  at  Phalsbonrg. 
As  I  seemed  weak  and  was  a  little  lame,  my  mother 
wished  me  to  learn  an  easier  trade  than  those  of  our 
village,  for  at  Dagsberg  there  were  only  wood-cut- 
ters and  charcoal-burners.  Monsieur  Goulden  liked 
me  very  much.  We  lived  on  the  first  story  of  a 
large  house  opposite  the  "  Red  Ox  "  inn,  and  near 
the  French  gate. 

That  was  the  place  to  see  princes,  ambassadors, 
and  generals  come  and  go,  some  on  horseback  and 
gome  in  carriages  drawn  by  two  or  four  horses;  there 
they  passed  in  embroidered  uniforms,  with  waving 
plumes  and  decorations  from  every  country  under 
the  sun.  And  in  the  highway  what  couriers,  what 
baggage-wagons,  what  powder-trains,  cannon,  cais- 
sons, cavalry,  and  infantry  did  we  see !  Those  were 
stirring  times! 

In  five  or  six  years  the  innkeeper,  George,  had 
made  a  fortune.  He  had  fields,  orchards,  houses, 
and  money  in  abundance ;  for  all  these  people,  com- 
ing from  Germany,  Switzerland,  Russia,  Poland, 
or  elsewhere,  cared  little  for  a  few  handfuls  of  gold 
scattered  upon  their  road ;  they  were  all  nobles,  who 
took  a  pride  in  showing  their  prodigality. 

From  morning  until  night,  and  even  during  the 
night,  the  "  Rex  Ox  "  kept  its  tables  in  readiness. 


THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT  3 

Through  the  long  windows  on  the  first  story  nothing 
was  to  be  seen  but  great  white  table-cloths,  glitter- 
ing with  silver  and  covered  with  game,  fish,  and 
other  rare  viands,  around  which  the  travellers  sat 
side  by  side.  In  the  yard  behind,  horses  neighed, 
postilions  shouted,  maid-servants  laughed,  coaches 
rattled.  Ah !  the  hotel  of  the  "  Eed  Ox  "  will  never 
see  such  prosperous  times  again. 

Sometimes,  too,  people  of  the  city  stopped  there, 
who  in  other  times  were  known  to  gather  sticks 
in  the  forest  or  to  work  on  the  highway.  But  now 
they  were  commandants,  colonels,  generals,  and  had 
won  their  grades  by  fighting  in  every  land  on  earth. 

Old  Melchior,  with  his  black  silk  cap  pulled  over 
his  ears,  his  weak  eyelids,  his  nose  pinched  between 
great  horn  spectacles,  and  his  lips  tightly  pressed 
together,  could  not  sometimes  avoid  putting  aside 
his  magnifying-glass  and  punch  upon  the  work- 
bench, and  throwing  a  glance  toward  the  inn,  espe- 
cially when  the  cracking  of  the  whips  of  the  postil- 
ions, with  their  heavy  boots,  little  jackets,  and  pe- 
rukes of  twisted  hemp,  awoke  the  echoes  of  the  ram- 
parts and  announced  a  new  arrival.  Then  he  be- 
came all  attention,  and  from  time  to  time  would 
exclaim : 

"  Hold!  It  is  the  son  of  Jacob,  the  slater/'  or  of 
"  the  old  scold,  Mary  Ann,"  or  of  "  the  cooper, 


4  THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

Frantz  Sepel!  He  has  made  his  way  in  the  world; 
there  he  is,  colonel  and  baron  of  the  empire  into  the 
bargain.  Why  don't  he  stop  at  the  house  of  his 
father,  who  lives  yonder  in  the  Rue  des  Capu- 
cinsf  " 

But  when  he  saw  them  shaking  hands  right  and 
2eft  in  the  street  with  those  who  recognized  them, 
his  tone  changed;  he  wiped  his  eyes  with  iris  great 
spotted  handkerchief,  and  murmured: 

"  How  pleased  poor  old  Annette  will  be!  Good! 
good!  He  is  not  proud;  he  is  a  man.  God  preserve 
him  from  cannon-balls !  " 

Others  passed  as  if  ashamed  to  recognize  their 
birth-place;  others  went  gayly  to  see  their  sisters 
or  cousins,  and  everybody  spoke  of  them.  One 
would  imagine  that  all  Phalsbourg  wore  their  crosses 
and  their  epaulettes;  while  the  arrogant  were  de- 
spised even  more  than  when  they  swept  the  roads. 

Nearly  every  month  Te  Deums  were  chanted, 
and  the  cannon  at  the  arsenal  fired  their  salutes 
of  twenty-one  rounds  for  some  new  victory,  making 
one's  heart  flutter.  During  the  week  following 
every  family  was  uneasy;  poor  mothers  especially 
waited  for  letters,  and  the  first  that  came  all  the 
city  knew  of;  "  such  an  one  had  received  a  letter 
from  Jacques  or  Claude,"  and  all  ran  to  see  if  it 
spoke  of  their  Joseph  or  their  Jean-Baptiste.  I  do 


MONSIEUR  GOULDEN. 


THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT  5 

not  speak  of  promotions  or  the  official  reports  of 
deaths;  as  for  the  first,  every  one  knew  that  the 
killed  must  be  replaced;  and  as  for  the  reports  of 
deaths,  parents  awaited  them  weeping,  for  they  did 
not  come  immediately;  sometimes  indeed  they 
never  came,  and  the  poor  father  and  mother  hoped 
on,  saying,  "  Perhaps  our  boy  is  a  prisoner.  When 
they  make  peace  he  will  return.  How  many  have 
returned  whom  we  thought  dead !  " 

But  they  never  made  peace.  When  one  war  was 
finished,  another  was  begun.  We  always  needed 
something,  either  from  Russia  or  from  Spain,  or 
some  other  country.  The  Emperor  was  never  sat- 
isfied. 

Often  when  regiments  passed  through  the  city, 
with  their  great  coats  pulled  back,  their  knapsacks 
on  their  backs,  their  great  gaiters  reaching  to  the 
knee,  and  muskets  carried  at  will ;  often  when  they 
passed  covered  with  mud  or  white  with  dust,  would 
Father  Melchior,  after  gazing  upon  them,  ask  me 
dreamily : 

"  How  many,  Joseph,  think  you  we  have  seen 
pass  since  1804? " 

"  I  cannot  say,  Monsieur  Goulden,"  I  would  re- 
ply, "  at  least  four  or  five  hundred  thousand." 

"  Yes,  at  least!  "  he  said,  "  and  how  many  have 
returned? " 


6  THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

Then  I  understood  his  meaning,  and  answered : 

"  Perhaps  they  returned  by  Mayence  or  some 
other  route.  It  cannot  be  possible  otherwise!  " 

But  he  only  shook  his  head,  and  said: 

"  Those  whom  you  have  not  seen  return  are  dead, 
as  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  thousands  more  will 
die,  if  the  good  God  does  not  take  pity  upon  us, 
for  the  Emperor  loves  only  war.  He  has  already 
spilt  more  blood  to  give  his  brothers  crowns 
than  our  great  Revolution  cost  to  win  the  rights 
of  man." 

Then  we  set  about  our  work  again;  but  the 
reflections  of  Monsieur  Goulden  gave  me  some  ter- 
rible subjects  for  thought. 

It  was  true  that  I  was  a  little  lame  in  the  left 
leg;  but  how  many  others  with  defects  of  body  had 
received  their  orders  to  march  notwithstanding! 

These  ideas  kept  running  through  my  head,  and 
when  I  thought  long  over  them,  I  grew  very  melan- 
choly. They  seemed  terrible  to  me,  not  only  be- 
cause I  had  no  love  for  war,  but  because  I  was  going 
to  marry  Catharine  of  Quatre- Vents.  We  had  been 
in  some  sort  reared  together.  Nowhere  could  be 
found  a  girl  so  fresh  and  laughing.  She  was  fair- 
haired,  with  beautiful  blue  eyes,  rosy  cheeks,  and 
teeth  as  white  as  milk.  She  was  approaching  eigh- 
teen; I  was  nineteen,  and  Aunt  Margredel  seemed 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT  7 

pleased  to  see  me  coming  early  every  Sunday  morn- 
ing to  breakfast  and  dine  with  them. 

Catharine  and  I  often  went  into  the  orchard  be- 
hind the  house;  there  we  bit  the  same  apples  and 
the  same  pears;  we  wTere  the  happiest  creatures  in 
the  world.  It  was  I  who  took  her  to  high  mass  and 
vespers;  and  on  holidays  she  never  left  my  side,  and 
refused  to  dance  with  the  other  youths  of  the  village. 
Everybody  knew  that  we  would  some  day  be  mar- 
ried; but,  if  I  should  be  so  unfortunate  as  to  be 
drawn  in  the  conscription,  there  was  an  end  of  mat- 
ters. I  wished  that  I  was  a  thousand  times  more 
lame;  for  at  the  time  of  which  I  speak  they  had 
first  taken  the  unmarried  men,  then  the  married 
men  who  had  no  children,  then  those  with  one  child; 
and  I  constantly  asked  myself,  "  Are  lame  fellows 
of  more  consequence  than  fathers  of  families?  Could 
they  not  put  me  in  the  cavalry? "  The  idea  made 
me  so  unhappy  that  I  already  thought  of  fleeing. 

But  in  1812,  at  the  beginning  of  the  Russian 
war,  my  fear  increased.  From  February  until  the 
end  of  May,  every  day  we  saw  pass  regiments  after 
regiments — dragoons,  cuirassiers,  carbineers,  hus- 
sars, lancers  of  all  colors,  artillery,  caissons,  ambu- 
lances, wagons,  provisions,  rolling  on  forever,  like 
a  river  which  runs  on  and  on,  and  of  which  one  can 
never  see  the  end. 


8  THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

1  still  remember  that  this  began  with  soldiers 
driving  large  wagons  drawn  by  oxen.  These  oxen 
were  in  the  place  of  horses,  and  were  to  be  used  for 
food  later  on,  when  they  should  have  used  up  their 
provisions.  Everybody  said,  "What  a  fine  idea! 
When  the  soldiers  can  no  longer  feed  the  oxen,  the 
oxen  will  feed  the  soldiers."  Unhappily  those  who 
said  this  did  not  know  that  the  oxen  could  only  make 
seven  or  eight  leagues  a  day,  and  that  for  every 
eight  days  of  marching,  they  must  have  at  least 
one  day's  rest;  so  that  indeed,  the  poor  animals' 
hoofs  were  already  dry  and  worn  out,  their  lips 
drooping,  their  eyes  standing  out  of  their  heads,  and 
little  but  skin  and  bone  left  of  them.  For  three 
weeks  they  kept  passing  in  this  way,  all  torn  with 
thrusts  of  the  bayonet.  Meat  became  cheap,  for 
they  killed  many  of  the  oxen ;  but  few  wanted  their 
flesh,  the  diseased  meat  being  unhealthy.  They 
never  went  more  than  twenty  leagues  beyond  the 
Rhine. 

After  that,  we  saw  more  lancers,  sabres,  and  hel- 
mets file  past.  All  flowed  through  the  French  gate, 
crossed  the  Place  d'Armes,  and  streamed  out  at  the 
German  gate. 

At  last,  on  the  10th  of  May,  in  the  year  1812, 
in  the  early  morning,  the  guns  of  the  arsenal  an- 
nounced the  coming  of  the  master  of  all.  I  was 


THE    STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT  9 

yet  sleeping  when  the  first  shot  shook  the  little 
panes  of  my  window  till  they  rattled  like  a  drum, 
and  Monsieur  Goulden,  with  a  lighted  candle, 
opened  my  door,  saying,  "  Get  up,  he  is  here !  " 

We  opened  the  window.  Through  the  night  I 
saw  a  hundred  dragoons,  of  whom  many  bore 
torches,  enter  at  a  gallop  under  the  French  gate; 
they  shook  the  earth  as  they  passed;  their  lights 
glanced  along  the  house-fronts  like  dancing  flames, 
and  from  every  window  we  heard  ceaseless  shouts 
of  "  Vive  VEmpereur!  " 

I  was  gazing  at  the  carriage,  when  a  horse 
crashed  against  the  post  to  which  the  butcher  Klein 
was  accustomed  to  fasten  his  cattle.  The  dragoon 
fell  heavily,  his  helmet  rolled  in  the  gutter,  and 
immediately  a  head  leaned  out  of  the  carriage  to 
see  what  had  happened — a  large  head,  pale  and  fat, 
with  a  tuft  of  hair  on  the  forehead:  it  was  Na- 
poleon; he  held  his  hand  up  as  if  about  taking  a 
pinch  of  snuff,  and  said  a  few  words  roughly.  The 
officer  galloping  by  the  side  of  the  coach  bent  down 
to  reply;  and  his  master  took  his  snuff  and  turned 
the  corner,  while  the  shouts  redoubled  and  the  can- 
nons roared  louder  than  ever. 

This  was  all  that  I  saw. 

The  Emperor  did  not  stop  at  Phalsbourg,  and, 
when  he  was  on  the  road  to  Saverne,  the  guns  fired 


io  THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

their  last  shot,  and  silence  reigned  once  more.  The 
guards  at  the  French  gate  raised  the  drawbridge, 
and  the  old  watchmaker  said : 

"  You  have  seen  him?  " 

"  I  have,  Monsieur  Goulden." 

"  Well,"  he  continued,  "  that  man  holds  all  our 
lives  in  his  hand ;  he  need  but  breathe  upon  us  and 
we  are  gone.  Let  us  bless  Heaven  that  he  is  not 
evil-minded;  for  if  he  were,  the  world  would  see 
again  the  horrors  of  the  days  of  the  barbarian  kings 
and  the  Turks." 

He  seemed  lost  in  thought,  but  in  a  moment  he 
added: 

"  You  can  go  to  bed  again.  The  clock  is  striking 
three." 

He  returned  to  his  room,  and  I  to  my  bed.  The 
deep  silence  without  seemed  strange  after  such  a 
tumult,  and  until  daybreak  I  never  ceased  dreaming 
of  the  Emperor.  I  dreamed,  too,  of  the  dragoon, 
and  wanted  to  know  if  he  were  killed.  The  next 
day  we  learned  that  he  was  carried  to  the  hospital 
and  would  recover. 

From  that  day  until  the  month  of  September  they 
often  sang  the  Tc  Dcum,  and  fired  twenty-one  guns 
for  new  victories.  It  was  nearly  always  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  Monsieur  Goulden  cried : 

"  Eh,  Joseph!    Another  battle  won!    Fifty  thou- 


TJHE  TtRAGOON  FELL  ITEAVTLT. 


THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT  n 

sand  men  lost!  Twenty-five  standards,  a  hundred 
guns  won.  All  goes  well,  all  goes  well.  It  only- 
remains  now  to  order  a  new  levy  to  replace  the 
dead!" 

He  pushed  open  my  door,  and  I  saw  him,  bald, 
in  his  shirt-sleeves,  with  his  neck  bare,  washing  his 
face  in  the  wash-bowl. 

"  Do  you  think,  Monsieur  Goulden,"  I  asked, 
in  great  trouble,  "  that  they  will  also  take  the 
lame?" 

"  Ko,  no,"  he  said  kindly;  "  fear  nothing,  my 
child,  you  could  not  serve.  "We  will  fix  that.  Only 
work  well,  and  never  mind  the  rest." 

He  saw  my  anxiety,  and  it  pained  him.  I  never 
met  a  better  man.  Then  he  dressed  himself  to  go 
to  wind  up  the  city  clocks — those  of  Monsieur  the 
Commandant  of  the  place,  of  Monsieur  the  Mayor, 
and  other  notable  personages.  I  remained  at  home. 
Monsieur  Goulden  did  not  return  until  after  the 
Te  Deum.  He  took  off  his  great  brown  coat,  put 
his  peruke  back  in  its  box,  and  again  pulling  hn  fculk 
cap  over  his  ears,  said: 

"  The  army  is  at  Wilna  or  at  Smolensk,  as  I 
learn  from  Monsieur  the  Commandant.  God 
grant  that  we  may  succeed  this  time  and  make 
peace,  and  the  sooner  the  bettt^,  for  war  is  a  terri- 
ble thing." 


12  THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

I  thought,  too,  that,  if  we  had  peace,  so  many 
men  would  not  be  needed,  and  that  I  could  marry 
Catharine.  Any  one  can  imagine  the  wishes  I 
formed  for  the  Emperor's  glory. 


n 

IT  was  on  the  15th  of  September,  1812,  that  the 
news  came  of  tho  great  victory  of  the  Moskowa. 
Every  one  was  full  of  joy,  and  all  cried,  "  Now  we 
will  have  peace !  now  the  war  is  ended !  " 

Some  discontented  folks  might  say  that  China 
yet  remained  to  be  conquered;  such  mar-joys  are 
always  to  be  found. 

A  week  after,  we  learned  that  our  forces  were 
in  Moscow,  the  largest  and  richest  city  in  Rus- 
sia, and  then  everybody  figured  to  himself  the 
booty  we  would  capture,  and  the  reduction  it  would 
make  in  the  taxes.  But  soon  came  the  rumor  that 
the  Russians  had  set  fire  to  their  capital,  and  that 
it  was  necessary  to  retreat  on  Poland  or  to  die  of 
hunger.  Nothing  else  was  spoken  of  in  the  inns, 
the  breweries,  or  the  market;  no  one  could  meet 
his  neighbor  without  saying,  "  "Well,  well,  things 
go  badly;  the  retreat  has  commenced." 

People  grew  pale,  and  hundreds  of  peasants 
waited  morning  and  night  at  the  post-office,  but 
no  letters  came  now.  I  passed  and  repassed 

13 


14  THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

through  the  crowd  without  paying  much  attention 
to  it,  for  I  had  seen  so  much  of  the  same  thing. 
And  besides,  I  had  a  thought  in  my  mind  which 
gladdened  my  heart,  and  made  everything  seem 
rosy  to  me. 

You  must  know  that  for  six  months  past  I  had 
wished  to  make  Catharine  a  magnificent  present  for 
her  birthday,  which  fell  on  the  18th  of  December. 
Among  the  watches  which  hung  in  Monsieur  Goul- 
den's  window  was  one  little  one,  of  the  prettiest 
kind,  with  a  silver  case  full  of  little  circles,  which 
made  it  shine  like  a  star.  Around  the  face,  under 
the  glass,  was  a  thread  of  copper,  and  on  the  face 
were  painted  two  lovers,  the  youth  evidently  declar- 
ing his  love,  and  giving  to  his  sweetheart  a  large 
bouquet  of  roses,  while  she  modestly  lowered  her 
eyes  and  held  out  her  hand. 

The  first  time  I  saw  the  watch,  I  said  to  myself: 
"  Yon  will  not  let  that  escape ;  that  watch  is  for 
Catharine,  and,  although  you  must  work  every  day 
till  midnight  for  it,  she  must  have  it."  Monsieur 
Goulden,  after  seven  in  the  evening,  allowed  me 
work  on  my  own  account.  He  had  old  watches  to 
clean  and  regulate;  and  as  this  work  was  often  very 
troublesome,  old  Father  Melchior  paid  me  reason- 
ably for  it.  But  the  little  watch  was  thirty-five 
francs,  and  one  can  imagine  how  many  hours  at 


THE   STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT  15 

night  I  would  have  to  work  for  it.  I  am  sure  that 
if  Monsieur  Goulden  knew  that  I  wanted  it  he  would 
have  given  it  me  for  a  present,  but  I  would  not  have 
let  him  take  a  farthing  less  for  it;  I  would  have 
regarded  doing  so  something  shameful.  I  kept 
saying:  "  You  must  earn  it;  no  one  else  must  have 
any  claim  upon  it."  Only  for  fear  somebody  else 
might  take  a  fancy  to  buy  it,  I  put  it  aside  in  a  box, 
telling  Father  Melchior  that  I  knew  a  purchaser. 

Under  these  circumstances,  every  one  can  readily 
understand  how  it  was  that  all  these  stories  of  war 
went  in  at  one  ear  and  out  at  the  other  with  me. 
While  I  worked  I  imagined  Catharine's  joy,  and 
for  five  months  that  was  all  I  had  before  my  eyes. 
I  thought  how  pleased  she  would  look,  and  asked  my- 
self, "  What  will  she  say?  "  Sometimes  I  imagined 
she  would  cry  out,  "  Oh,  Joseph !  what  are  you 
thinking  of?  It  is  much  too  beautiful  for  me.  No, 
no;  I  cannot  take  so  fine  a  watch  from  you!  "  Then 
I  thought  I  would  force  it  upon  her;  I  would  slip 
it  into  her  apron-pocket,  saying,  "  Come,  come, 
Catharine !  Do  you  wish  to  give  me  pain  ?  "  I  could 
see  how  she  wanted  it,  and  that  she  spoke  so  only 
to  seem  to  refuse  it.  Then  I  imagined  her  blushing, 
with  her  hands  raised,  saying,  "  Joseph,  now  I  know 
indeed  that  you  love  me !  "  And  she  would  embrace 
me  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  I  felt  very  happy.  Aunt 


16  THE    STORY    OF    A    CONSCRIPT 

Gredel  approved  of  all.  In  a  word,  a  thousand  such 
scenes  passed  through  my  mind,  and  when  I  retired 
at  night  I  thought:  "  There  is  no  one  as  happy  as 
you,  Joseph.  See  what  a  present  you  can  make 
Catharine  by  your  toil ;  and  she  surely  is  preparing 
something  for  your  birthday,  for  she  thinks  only 
of  you;  you  are  both  very  happy,  and,  when  you 
are  married,  all  will  go  well." 

While  I  was  thus  working  on,  thinking  only  of 
happiness,  the  winter  began,  earlier  than  usual, 
toward  the  commencement  of  November.  It  did 
not  begin  with  snow,  but  with  dry,  cold  weather 
and  heavy  frosts.  In  a  few  days  all  the  leaves  had 
fallen  and  the  earth  was  hard  as  ice  and  all  covered 
with  hoar-frost ;  tiles,  pavement,  and  window-panes 
glittered  with  it.  Fires  had  to  be  made  that  winter 
to  keep  the  cold  from  coming  in  at  the  windows, 
and,  when  the  doors  were  opened  for  a  moment,  the 
heat  seemed  to  disappear  at  once.  The  wood  crac- 
kled in  the  stoves  and  burnt  away  like  straw  in  the 
fierce  draught  of  the  chimneys. 

Every  morning  I  hastened  to  wash  the  panes  of 
the  shop-window  with  warm  water,  and  I  scarcely 
closed  it  when  a  frosty  sheen  covered  it.  Without, 
people  ran  puffing  with  their  coat-collars  over  their 
ears  and  their  hands  in  their  pockets.  No  one  stood 
still,  and  when  doors  opened,  they  soon  closed. 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT  17 

I  don't  know  what  became  of  the  sparrows, 
whether  they  were  dead  or  living,  but  not  one  twit- 
tered in  the  chimneys,  and  save  the  reveille  and 
retreat  sounded  in  the  barracks,  no  noise  broke  the 
silence. 

Often  when  the  fire  crackled  merrily,  did  Mon- 
sieur Goulden  stop  his  work,  and,  gazing  on  the 
frost-covered  panes,  exclaim: 

"  Our  poor  soldiers!   our  poor  soldiers!  " 

He  said  this  so  mournfully  that  I  felt  a  choking 
in  my  throat  as  I  replied: 

IL  "  But,  Monsieur  Goulden,  they  ought  now  to  be 
in  Poland  in  good  barracks;  for  to  suppose  that 
human  beings  could  endure  a  cold  like  this — it  is 
impossible." 

"  Such  a  cold  as  this,"  he  said;  "  yes,  here  it  is 
cold,  very  cold  from  the  winds  from  the  mountains; 
but  what  is  this  frost  to  that  of  the  north,  of  Russia 
and  of  Poland?  God  grant  that  they  started  early 
enough.  My  God!  my  God!  the  leaders  of  men 
have  a  heavy  weight  to  bear." 

Then  he  would  be  silent,  and  for  hours  I  would 
think  of  what  he  had  said  to  me;  I  pictured  to 
myself  our  soldiers  on  the  march,  running  to  keep 
themselves  warm.  But  the  thought  of  Catharine 
always  came  back  to  me,  and  I  have  often  thought 
since  that  when  one  is  happy,  the  misery  of  others 


i8  THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

affects  him  but  little,  especially  in  youth,  when  the 
passions  are  strongest,  and  when  we  have  had  little 
knowledge  of  great  griefs. 

After  the  frosts  so  much  snow  fell  that  the  cou- 
riers were  stopped  on  the  road  toward  Quatre-Vents. 
I  feared  that  I  could  not  go  to  see  Catharine  on  her 
fete-day;  but  two  companies  of  infantry  set  out 
with  pick-axes,  and  dug  through  the  frozen  snow 
a  way  for  carriages,  and  that  road  remained  open 
until  the  beginning  of  April,  1813. 

Nevertheless,  Catharine's  birthday  approached 
day  by  day,  and  my  happiness  increased  in  pro-, 
portion.  I  had  already  the  thirty-five  francs,  but 
I  did  not  know  how  to  tell  Monsieur  Goulden  that 
I  wished  to  buy  the  watch;  I  wanted  to  keep  the 
whole  matter  secret;  and  I  did  not  at  all  like  to 
talk  about  it. 

At  length,  on  the  eve  of  the  eventful  day,  be- 
tween six  and  seven  in  the  evening,  while  we  were 
working  in  silence,  the  lamp  between  us,  suddenly 
I  took  my  resolution,  and  said : 

"  You  know,  Monsieur  Goulden,  that  I  spoke 
to  you  of  a  purchaser  for  the  little  silver  watch." 

"  Yes,  Joseph,"  said  he,  without  raising  his  head, 
"  but  he  has  not  come  yet." 

"  It  is  I  who  am  the  purchaser,  Monsieur 
G-oulden."  -  • 


THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT  19 

Then  he  looked  up  in  astonishment.  I  took  out 
the  thirty-five  francs  and  laid  them  on  the  work- 
bench, lie  stared  at  me. 

"  But,"  he  said,  "  it  is  not  such  a  watch  as  that 
you  want,  Joseph ;  you  want  one  that  will  fill  your 
pocket  and  mark  the  seconds.  Those  little  watches 
are  only  for  women." 

I  knew  not  what  to  say. 

Monsieur  Goulden,  after  meditating  a  few  mo- 
ments, began  to  smile. 

"  Ah !  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  good !  good !  I  under- 
stand now ;  to-morrow  is  Catharine's  birthday.  Now 
I  know  why  you  worked  day  and  night.  Hold! 
take  back  this  money;  I  do  not  want  it." 

I  was  all  confusion. 

"Monsieur  Goulden,  I  thank  you,"  I  replied; 
"  but  this  watch  is  for  Catharine,  and  I  wish  to 
have  earned  it.  You  will  pain  me  if  you  refuse 
the  money;  I  would  as  lief  not  take  the  watch." 

He  said  nothing  more,  but  took  the  thirty-five 
francs;  then  he  opened  his  drawer,  and  chose  a 
pretty  steel  chain,  with  two  little  keys  of  silver- 
gilt,  which  he  fastened  to  the  watch.  Then  he 
put  all  together  in  a  box  with  a  rose-colored  favor. 
He  did  all  this  slowly,  as  if  affected;  then  he  gave 
me  the  box. 

"  It  is  a  pretty  present,  Joseph,"  said  he.    "  Cath- 


20  THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

arine  ought  to  think  herself  happy  in  having  such 
a  lover  as  you.  She  is  a  good  girl.  Now  we  can 
take  our  supper.  Set  the  table." 

The  table  was  arranged,  and  then  Monsieur 
G  oulden  took  from  a  closet  a  bottle  of  his  Metz 
wine,  which  he  kept  for  great  occasions,  and  we 
supped  like  old  friends,  rather  than  as  master  and 
apprentice ;  all  the  evening  he  never  stopped  speak- 
ing of  the  merry  days  of  his  youth;  telling  me  how 
he  once  had  a  sweetheart,  but  that,  in  1792,  he 
left  home  in  ihejevee  en  masse  at  the  time  of  the 
Prussian  invasion,  and  that  on  his  return  to  Fene- 
trange,  he  found  her  married — a  very  natural  thing, 
since  he  had  never. mustered  courage  enough  to  de- 
clare his  love.  However,  this  did  not  prevent  his 
remaining  faithful  to  the  tender  remembrance,  and 
when  he  spoke  of  it  he  seemed  sad  indeed.  I  re- 
counted all  this  in  imagination  to  Catharine,  and 
it  was  not  until  the  stroke  of  ten,  at  the  passage  of 
the  rounds,  which  relieved  the  sentries  on  post  every 
twenty  minutes  on  account  of  the  great  cold,  that 
we  put  two  good  logs  on  the  fire,  and  at  length  went 
to  bed. 


ra 

THE  next  day,  the  18th  cf  December,  I  arose 
about  six  in  the  morning.  It  was  terribly  cold; 
my  little  window  was  covered  with  a  sheet  of  frost. 

I  had  taken  care  the  night  before  to  lay  out  on 
the  back  of  a  chair  my  sky-blue  coat,  my  trousers, 
my  goat-skin  vest,  and  my  fine  black  silk  cravat. 
Everything  was  ready;  my  well-polished  shoes  lay 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed;  I  had  only  to  dress  myself; 
but  the  cold  I  felt  upon  my  face,  the  sight  of  those 
window-panes,  and  the  deep  silence  without,  made 
me  shiver  in  anticipation.  If  it  had  not  been  Cath- 
arine's birthday,  I  would  have  remained  in  bed  until 
midday;  but  suddenly  that  recollection  made  me 
jump  out  of  bed,  and  rush  to  the  great  delf  stove, 
where  some  embers  of  the  preceding  night  almost 
always  remained  among  the  cinders.  I  found  two 
or  three,  and  hastened  to  collect  and  put  them  under 
some  split  wood  and  two  large  logs,  after  which  I 
ran  back  to  my  bed. 

Monsieur  Goulden,  under  the  huge  curtains,  with 

21 


22  THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

the  coverings  pulled  up  to  his  nose  and  his  cotton 
night-cap  over  his  eyes,  woke  up,  and  cried  out: 

"  Joseph,  we  have  not  had  such  cold  for  forty 
years.  I  never  felt  it  so.  What  a  winter  we  shall 
have!" 

I  did  not  answer,  but  looked  out  to  see  if  the 
fire  was  lighting;  the  embers  burnt  well;  I  heard 
the  chimney  draw,  and  at  once  all  blazed  up.  The 
sound  of  the  flames  was  merry  enough,  but  it  re- 
quired a  good  half-hour  to  feel  the  air  any  warmer. 

At  last  I  arose  and  dressed  myself.  Monsieur 
Goulden  kept  on  chatting,  but  I  thought  only  of 
Catharine,  and  when  at  length,  toward  eight  o'clock, 
I  started  out,  he  exclaimed : 

"  Joseph,  what  are  you  thinking  of?  Are  you 
going  to  Quatre- Vents  in  that  little  coat?  You 
would  be  dead  before  you  had  got  half  way.  Go 
into  my  closet,  and  take  my  great  cloak,  and  the 
mittens,  and  the  double-soled  shoes  lined  with  flan- 
nel." 

I  was  so  smart  in  my  fine  clothes  that  I  reflected 
whether  it  would  be  better  to  follow  his  advice,  and 
he,  seeing  my  hesitation,  said: 

"  Listen !  a  man  was  found  frozen  yesterday  on 
the  way  to  "VVecham.  Doctor  Steinbrenner  said 
that  he  sounded  like  a  piece  of  dry  wood  when  they 
tapped  upon  him.  He  was  a  soldier,  and  had  left 


THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT  *3 

the  village  between  six  and  seven  o'clock,  and  at 
eight  they  found  him;  so  that  the  frost  did  not 
take  long  to  do  its  work.  If  you  want  your  nose 
and  ears  frozen,  you  have  only  to  go  out  as  you  are." 

I  knew  then,  that  he  was  right;  so  I  put  on  the 
thick  shoes,  and  passed  the  cord  of  the  mittens  over 
my  shoulders,  and  put  the  cloak  over  all.  Thus  ac- 
coutred, I  sallied  forth,  after  thanking  Monsieur 
Goulden,  who  warned  me  not  to  stay  too  late,  for 
the  cold  increased  toward  night,  and  great  numbers 
of  wolves  were  crossing  the  Rhine  on  the  ice. 

I  had  not  gone  as  far  as  the  church  when  I  turned 
up  the  fox-skin  collar  of  the  cloak  to  shield  my  ears. 
The  cold  was  so  keen  that  it  seemed  as  though  the  air 
were  filled  with  needles,  and  one's  body  shrank  in- 
voluntarily from  head  to  foot. 

Under  the  German  gate,  I  saw  the  soldier  on 
guard,  in  his  great  gray  mantle,  standing  back  in 
his  box  like  a  saint  in  his  niche;  he  had  his  sleeve 
wrapped  about  his  musket  where  he  held  it,  to  keep 
his  fingers  from  the  iron,  and  two  long  icicles  hung 
from  his  mustaches.  No  one  was  on  the  bridge, 
not  even  the  toll-gatherer,  but  a  little  farther  on, 
I  saw  three  carts  in  the  middle  of  the  road  with 
their  canvas-tops  all  covered  and  glistening  with 
frost;  they  were  unharnessed  and  abandoned.  Ev- 
erything in  the  distance  seemed  dead;  all  living 


24  THE   STORY    OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

things  had  hidden  themselves  from  the  cold;  and 
I  could  hear  nothing  but  the  snow  crunching  under 
my  feet,  llunning  along  the  cemetery,  where  the 
crosses  and  gravestones  glistened  in  the  snow,  I  said 
to  myself:  "  Those  who  sleep  there  are  no  longer 
cold!  "  I  drew  my  cloak  over  my  breast,  and  hid 
my  nose  in  the  fur  collar,  thanking  Monsieur  Goul- 
den  for  his  lucky  thought.  I  also  thrust  my  hands 
into  the  muffler  to  the  elbows,  and  ran  along  in  the 
deep  trench,  extending  farther  than  the  eye  could 
reach,  that  the  soldiers  had  made  from  the  town  as 
far  as  Quatre- Vents.  On  each  side  were  walls  of  ice. 
In  some  places  swept  by  the  wind,  I  could  see  the  oak 
forest  and  the  bluish  mountain,  both  seeming  much 
nearer  than  they  were,  on  account  of  the  clearness 
of  the  air.  Not  a  dog  barked  in  a  farm-yard;  it 
was  too  cold  even  for  that. 

But  in  spite  of  all  this  the  thought  of  Catharine 
warmed  my  heart,  and  soon  I  descried  the  first 
houses  of  Quatre- Vents.  The  chimneys  and  the 
thatched  roofs,  to  the  right  and  left  of  the  road, 
were  scarcely  higher  than  the  mountains  of  snow, 
and  the  villagers  had  dug  trenches  along  the  walls,' 
so  that  they  could  pass  to  each  other's  houses.  But 
that  day  every  family  kept  around  its  hearth,  and 
the  little  round  window-panes  seemed  painted  red, 
from  the  great  fires  burning  within.  Before  each 


'COME,  MT  CHILDREN;  TO  TABLE!" 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT  25 

door  was  a  truss  of  straw  to  keep  the  cold  from  en- 
tering beneath  it. 

At  the  fifth  door  to  the  right  I  stopped  to  take 
off  my  mittens;  then  I  opened  and  closed  it  very 
quickly.  I  was  at  the  house  of  Gredel  Bauer,  the 
widow  of  Matthias  Bauer,  and  Catharine's  mother. 

As  I  entered,  and  while  Aunt  Gredel,  seated  by 
the  hearth,  astonished  at  my  fox-skin  collar,  was 
yet  turning  her  gray  head,  Catharine,  in  her  Sun- 
day dress — a  pretty  striped  petticoat,  a  kerchief  with 
long  fringe  folded  across  her  bosom,  a  red  apron 
fastened  around  her  slender  waist,  a  pretty  cap  of 
blue  silk  with  black  velvet  bands  setting  off  her 
rosy  and  white  face,  soft  eyes,  and  rather  short  nose 
— Catharine,  I  say,  exclaimed : 

"It  is  Joseph!'"' 

And  without  waiting  to  look  twice,  she  ran  to 
greet  me,  saying: 

"  I  knew  the  cold  would  not  keep  you  from 
coming." 

I  was  so  happy  that  I  could  not  speak.  I  took 
off  my  cloak,  which  I  hung  upon  a  nail  on  the  wall, 
with  my  mittens;  I  took  off  Monsieur  Goulden's 
great  shoes,  and  turned  pale  with  joy. 

I  would  have  said  something  agreeable,  but  could 
not; "  suddenly  I  exclaimed: 

"  See  here,  Catharine;  here  is  something  for  your 


26  THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

birthday,  but  you  must  give  me  a  kiss  before  open- 
ing the  box." 

She  put  up  her  pretty  red  cheek  to  me,  and  then 
ran  to  the  table.  Aunt  Gredel  also  came  to  see  the 
present.  Catharine  untied  the  cord  and  opened  the 
box.  I  was  behind  them;  my  heart  jumped, 
jumped, — I  feared  that  the  watch  was  not  pretty 
enough.  But  in  an  instant,  Catharine,  clasping  her 
hands,  said  in  a  low  voice: 

"  How  beautiful !    It  is  a  watch !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Aunt  Gredel;  "  it  is  beautiful!  I 
never  saw  so  fine  a  one.  One  would  think  it  was 
silver." 

"  But  it  is  silver,"  returned  Catharine,  turning 
toward  me  inquiringly. 

Then  I  said : 

"  Do  you  think,  Aunt  Gredel,  that  I  would  be 
capable  of  giving  a  gilt  watch  to  one  whom  I  love 
better  than  my  own  life  ?  If  I  could  do  such  a  thing, 
I  would  despise  myself  more  than  the  dirt  of  my 
shoes." 

Catharine,  hearing  this,  threw  her  arms  around 
my  neck;  and  as  we  stood  thus,  I  thought:  "  this  is 
the  happiest  day  of  my  life."  I  could  not  let  her  go. 

Aunt  Gredel  asked: 

"  But  what  is  this  painted  upon  the  face  ?  " 

I  could  not  speak  to  answer  her;    and  only  at 


THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT  27 

last,  when  we  were  seated  beside  each  other,  I  took 
the  watch  and  said: 

"  That  painting,  Aunt  Gredel,  represents  two 
lovers  who  love  each  other  more  than  they  can  tell: 
Joseph  Bertha  and  Catharine  Bauer;  Joseph  is 
offering  a  bouquet  of  roses  to  his  sweetheart,  who 
is  stretching  out  her  hand  to  take  them." 

When  Aunt  Gredel  had  sufficiently  admired  the 
watch,  she  said: 

"  Come  until  I  kiss  you,  Joseph.  I  see  very  well 
that  you  must  have  economized  closely,  and  worked 
hard  for  this  watch,  and  I  think  it  is  very  pretty, 
and  that  you  are  a  good  workman,  and  will  do  us 
no  discredit." 

I  kissed  Aunt  Gredel's  cheek,  and  from  then  until 
midday,  I  did  not  let  go  Catharine's  hand.  We 
were  as  happy  as  could  be  looking  at  each  other. 
Aunt  Gredel  bustled  about  to  prepare  a  large  pan- 
cake with  dried  prunes,  and  wine,  and  cinnamon, 
and  other  good  things  in  it ;  but  we  paid  no  attention 
to  her,  and  it  was  only  when  she  put  on  her  red 
jacket  and  black  sabots,  and  called,  "  Come,  my 
children;  to  table!  "  that  we  saw  the  fine  table- 
cloth, the  great  porringer,  the  pitcher  of  wine,  and 
the  large  round,  golden  pancake  on  a  plate  in  the 
middle.  The  sight  rejoiced  us  not  a  little,  and  Cath- 
arine said: 


28  THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

"  Sit  there,  Joseph,  opposite  the  window,  that  I 
may  look  at  you.  But  you  must  fix  my  watch,  for 
I  do  not  know  where  to  put  it." 

I  passed  the  chain  around  her  neck,  and  then,  seat- 
ing ourselves,  we  ate  gayly.  "Without,  not  a  sound 
was  heard;  within,  the  fire  crackled  merrily  upon 
the  hearth.  It  was  very  pleasant  in  the  large  kitch- 
en, and  the  gray  cat,  a  little  wild,  gazed  at  us 
through  the  balusters  of  the  stairs  without  daring  to 
come  down. 

Catharine,  after  dinner,  sang  Der  liebe  Gott. 
She  had  a  sweet,  clear  voice,  and  it  seemed  to  float 
to  heaven.  I  sang  low,  merely  to  sustain  her.  Aunt 
Gredel,  who  could  never  rest  doing  nothing,  began 
spinning;  the  hum  of  her  wheel  filled  up  the  si- 
lences, and  we  all  felt  happy.  When  one  song  was 
ended,  we  began  another.  At  three  o'clock,  Aunt 
Gredel  served  up  the  pancake,  and  as  we  ate  it, 
laughing,  like  the  happiest  of  beings,  she  would  ex- 
claim: 

"  Come,  come;  now,  you  are  children  in  reality." 

She  pretended  to  be  angry,  but  we  could  see  in 
her  eyes  that  she  was  happy  from  the  bottom  of  her 
heart.  This  lasted  until  four  o'clock,  when  night 
began  to  come  on  apace;  the  darkness  seemed  to 
enter  by  the  little  windows,  and,  knowing  that  we 
must  soon  part,  we  sat  sadly  around  the  hearth  on 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT  29 

which  the  red  flames  were  dancing.  Catharine 
pressed  my  hand.  I  would  almost  have  given  my 
life  to  remain  longer.  Another  half-hour  passed, 
when  Aunt  Gredel  cried : 

"  Listen,  Joseph!  It  is  time  for  you  to  go;  the 
moon  does  not  rise  till  after  midnight,  and  it  will 
soon  be  dark  as  a  kiln  outside,  and  an  accident  hap- 
pens so  easily  in  these  great  frosts." 

These  words  seemed  to  fall  like  a  bolt  of  ice,  and 
I  felt  Catharine's  clasp  tighten  on  my  hand.  But 
Aunt  Gredel  was  right. 

"  Come,"  said  she,  rising  and  taking  down  the 
cloak  from  the  wall;  "you  will  come  again  Sun- 
day." 

I  had  to  put  on  the  heavy  shoes,  the  mittens,  and 
the  cloak  of  Monsieur  Goulden,  and  would  have 
wished  that  I  were  a  hundred  years  doing  so,  but, 
unfortunately,  Aunt  Gredel  assisted  me.  When 
I  had  the  great  collar  drawn  up  to  my  ears,  she  said: 

"  Now,  kiss  us  good-by,  Joseph." 

I  kissed  her  first,  then  Catharine,  who  did  not 
say  a  word.  After  that  I  opened  the  door  and  the 
terrible  cold,  entering,  admonished  me  not  to  wait. 

"  Hasten,  Joseph,"  said  my  aunt. 

"  Good-night,  Joseph,  good-night!  "  cried  Cath- 
arine, "  and  do  not  forget  to  come  Sunday." 

I  turned  round  to  wave  my  hand;  and  then  I  ran 


30  THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

on  without  raising  my  head,  for  the  cold  was  so  in- 
tense that  it  brought  tears  to  my  eyes  even  behind 
the  great  collar. 

I  ran  on  thus  some  twenty  minutes,  scarcely 
daring  to  breathe,  when  a  drunken  voice  called 
out: 

"  Who  goes  there?  " 

I  looked  through  the  dim  night,  and  saw,  fifty 
paces  before  me,  Pinacle,  the  pedler,  with  his  huge 
basket,  his  otter-skin  cap,  woollen  gloves,  and  iron- 
pointed  staff.  The  lantern  hanging  from  the  strap 
of  his  basket  lit  up  his  debauched  face,  his  chin 
bristling  with  yellow  beard,  and  his  great  nose 
shaped  like  an  extinguisher.  He  glared  with  his 
little  eyes  like  a  wolf,  and  repeated,  "  Who  goes 
there?" 

This  Pinacle  was  the  greatest  rogue  in  the  coun- 
try. He  had  the  year  before  a  difficulty  with  Mon- 
sieur Goulden,  who  demanded  of  him  the  price  of 
a  watch  which  he  undertook  to  deliver  to  Monsieur 
Anstett,  the  curate  of  Homert,  and  the  money  for 
which  he  put  into  his  pocket,  saying  he  paid  it  to 
me.  But  although  the  villain  made  oath  before  the 
justice  of  the  peace,  Monsieur  Goulden  knew  the 
contrary,  for  on  the  day  in  question  neither  he  nor 
I  had  left  the  house.  Besides,  Pinacle  wanted  to 
dance  with  Catharine  at  a  festival  at  Quatre-Vents, 


THE    STORY    OF    A    CONSCRIPT  3I 

and  she  refused  because  she  knew  the  story  of  the 
watch,  and  was,  besides,  unwilling  to  leave  me. 

The  sight,  then,  of  this  rogue  with  his  iron-shod 
stick  in  the  middle  of  the  road  did  not  tend  to  re- 
joice my  heart.  Happily  a  little  path  which  wound 
around  the  cemetery  wras  at  my  left,  and,  without 
replying,  I  dashed  through  it  although  the  snow 
reached  my  waist. 

Then  he,  guessing  who  I  was,  cried  furiously: 

"  Aha!  it  is  the  little  lame  fellow!  Halt!  halt! 
I  want  to  bid  you  good-evening.  You  came  from 
Catharine's,  you  watch-stealer." 

But  I  sprang  like  a  hare  through  the  heaps  of 
snow;  he  at  first  tried  to  follow  me,  but  his  pack 
hindered  him,  and,  when  I  gained  the  ground  again, 
he  put  his  hands  around  his  mouth,  and  shrieked: 

"  Never  mind,  cripple,  never  mind !  Your  reck- 
oning is  coming  all  the  same;  the  conscription  is 
coming — the  grand  conscription  of  the  one-eyed, 
the  lame,  and  the  hunch-backed.  You  will  have  to 
go,  and  you  will  find  a  place  under  ground  like  the 
others." 

He  continued  his  way,  laughing  like  the  sot  he 
was,  and  I,  scarcely  able  to  breathe,  kept  on,  thank- 
ing Heaven  that  the  little  alley  was  so  near;  for 
Pinacle,  who  was  known  always  to  draw  his  knife 
in  a  fight,  might  have  done  me  an  ill  turn. 


32  THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

In  spite  of  my  exertion,  my  feet,  even  in  the 
thick  shoes,  were  intensely  cold,  and  I  again  began 
running. 

That  night  the  water  froze  in  the  cisterns  of 
Phalsbourg  and  the  wines  in  the  cellars — things 
that  had  not  happened  before  for  sixty  years. 

On  the  bridge  and  under  the  German  gate  the 
silence  seemed  yet  deeper  than  in  the  morning,  and 
the  night  made  it  seem  terrible.  A  few  stars  shone 
between  the  masses  of  white  cloud  that  hung  over 
the  city.  All  along  the  street  I  met  not  a  soul,  and 
when  I  reached  home,  after  shutting  the  door  of 
our  lower  passage,  it  seemed  warm  to  me,  although 
the  little  stream  that  ran  from  the  yard  along  the 
wall  was  frozen.  I  stopped  a  moment  to  take  breath ; 
then  I  ascended  in  the  dark,  my  hand  on  the  bal- 
uster. 

"When  I  opened  the  door  of  my  room,  the  cheer- 
ful warmth  of  the  stove  was  grateful  indeed.  Mon- 
sieur G  oulden  was  seated  in  his  arm-chair  before 
the  fire,  his  cap  of  black  silk  pulled  over  his  ears, 
and  his  hands  resting  upon  his  knees. 

"  Is  that  you,  Joseph  ? "  he  asked  without  turn- 
ing round. 

"  It  is,"  I  answered.  "  How  pleasant  it  is  here, 
and  how  cold  out  of  doors  1  We  never  had  such  a 
winter." 


"WHO   GOES  THERE?" 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT  33 

"  No,"  he  said  gravely.  "  It  is  a  winter  that  will 
long  be  remembered." 

I  went  into  the  closet  and  hung  the  cloak  and 
mittens  in  their  places,  and  was  about  relating  my 
adventure  with  Pinacle,  when  he  resumed: 

"  You  had  a  pleasant  day  of  it,  Joseph." 

"  I  have  had,  indeed.  Aunt  Gredel  and  Catha- 
rine wished  me  to  make  you  their  compliments." 

"  Very  good,  very  good,"  said  he;  "  the  young 
are  right  to  amuse  themselves,  for  when  they  grow 
old,  and  suffer,  and  see  so  much  of  injustice,  selfish- 
ness, and  misfortune,  everything  is  spoiled  in  ad- 
vance." 

He  spoke  as  if  talking  to  himself,  gazing  at  the 
fire.  I  had  never  seen  him  so  sad,  and  I  asked: 

"  Are  you  not  well,  Monsieur  Goulden  ?  " 

But  he,  without  replying,  murmured: 

"  Yes,  yes;  this  is  to  be  a  great  military  nation; 
this  is  glory !  " 

He  shook  his  head  and  bent  over  gloomily,  his 
heavy  gray  brows  contracted  in  a  frown. 

I  knew  not  what  to  think  of  all  this,  when  raising 
his  head  again,  he  said  : 

"  At  this  moment,  Joseph,  there  are  four  hundred 

thousand  families  weeping  in  France  ;    the  grand 

army  has  perished  in  the  snows  of  Russia  ;  all  those 

stout  young  men  whom  for  two  months  we  saw  pass- 

3 


34  THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

ing  our  gates  are  buried  beneath  them.  The  news 
came  this  afternoon.  Oh!  it  is  horrible!  hor- 
rible !  " 

I  was  silent.  !Now  I  saw  clearly  that  we  must 
have  another  conscription,  as  after  all  campaigns, 
and  this  time  the  lame  would  most  probably  be 
called.  I  grew  pale,  and  Pinacle's  prophecy  made 
my  hair  stand  on  end. 

"  Go  to  bed,  Joseph  ;  rest  easy,"  said  Monsieur 
Goulden.  "  I  am  not  sleepy  ;  I  will  stay  here  ;  all 
this  upsets  me.  Did  you  remark  anything  in  the 
city?" 

"  No,  Monsieur  Goulden." 

I  went  to  my  room  and  to  bed.  For  a  long  time 
I  could  not  close  my  eyes,  thinking  of  the  conscrip- 
tion, of  Catharine,  and  of  so  many  thousands  of 
men  buried  in  the  snow,  and  then  I  plotted  flight  to 
Switzerland. 

About  three  o'clock  Monsieur  Goulden  retired, 
and  a  few  minutes  after,  through  God's  grace,  I  fell 
asleep. 


IV 

WHEN  I  arose  in  the  morning,  about  seven,  I  went 
to  Monsieur  G Gulden's  room  to  begin  work,  but  he 
was  still  in  bed,  looking  weary  and  sick. 

"  Joseph,"  said  he,  "  I  am  not  well.  This  hor- 
rible news  has  made  me  ill,  and  I  have  not  slept  at 
all." 

"  Shall  I  not  make  you  some  tea?  "  I  asked. 

"  No,  my  child,  that  is  not  worth  while.  I  will 
get  up  by  and  by.  But  this  is  the  day  to  regulate 
the  city  clocks  ;  I  cannot  go  ;  for  to  see  so  many 
good  people — people  I  have  known  for  thirty  years 
— in  misery,  would  kill  me.  Listen,  Joseph  :  take 
those  keys  hanging  behind  the  door  and  go.  I  will 
try  to  sleep  a  little.  If  I  could  sleep  an  hour  or  two, 
it  would  do  me  good." 

"  Very  well,  Monsieur  Goulden,"  I  replied  ;  "  I 
will  go  at  once." 

After  putting  more  wood  in  the  stove,  I  took  the 
cloak  and  mittens,  drew  Monsieur  Goul  den's  bed- 
curtains,  and  went  out,  the  bunch  of  keys  in  my 
pocket.  The  illness  of  Father  Melchior  grieved  me 

35 


36  THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

very  much  for  a  while,  but  a  thought  came  to  con- 
sole me,  and  I  said  to  myself  :  "  You  can  climb  up 
the  city  clock-tower,  and  see  the  house  of  Catharine 
and  Aunt  Gredel."  Thinking  thus,  I  arrived  at 
the  house  of  Brainstein,  the  bell-ringer,  who  lived  at 
the  corner  of  the  little  place,  in  an  old,  tumble- 
down barrack.  His  two  sons  were  weavers,  and  in 
their  old  home  the  noise  of  the  loom  and  the  whistle 
of  the  shuttle  was  heard  from  morning  till  night. 
The  grandmother,  old  and  blind,  slept  in  an  arm- 
chair, on  the  back  of  which  perched  a  magpie. 
Father  Brainstein,  when  he  did  not  have  to  ring  the 
bells  for  a  christening,  a  funeral,  or  a  marriage,  kept 
reading  his  almanac  behind  the  small  round  panes 
of  his  window. 

Beside  their  hut  was  a  little  box  under  the  roof 
of  the  old  hall,  where  the  cobbler  Koniam  worked, 
and  farther  on  were  the  butchers'  and  fruiterers' 
shops. 

I  came  then  to  Brainstein's,  and  the  old  man, 
when  he  saw  me,  rose  up,  saying  : 

"  It  is  you,  Monsieur  Joseph." 

"  Yes,  Father  Brainstein  ;  I  came  in  place  of 
Monsieur  Goulden,  who  is  not  well." 

"  Very  good  ;  it  is  all  the  same." 

He  took  up  his  staff  and  put  on  his  woollen  cap, 
driving  away  the  cat  that  was  sleeping  upon  it;  then 


THE   STORY    OF  A   CONSCRIPT  37 

he  took  the  great  key  of  the  steeple  from  a  drawer, 
and  we  went  out  together,  I  glad  to  find  myself 
again  in  the  open  air,  despite  the  cold  ;  for  their 
miserable  room  was  gray  with  vapor,  and  as  hard  to 
breathe  in  as  a  kettle  ;  I  could  never  understand 
how  people  could  live  in  such  a  way. 

At  last  we  gained  the  street,  and  Father  Brain- 
stein  said  : 

"  You  have  heard  of  the  great  Russian  disaster, 
Monsieur  Joseph? " 

"  Yes,  Father  Brainstein  ;  it  is  fearful  !  " 

"  Ah  !  "  said  he,  "  there  will  be  many  a  Mass 
said  in  the  churches  ;  every  one  will  weep  and  pray 
for  their  children,  the  more  that  they  are  dead  in  a 
heathen  land." 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  I  replied. 

We  crossed  the  court,  and  in  front  of  the  tower- 
hall,  opposite  the  guard-house,  many  peasants  and 
city  people  were  already  standing,  reading  a  pla- 
card. We  went  up  the  steps  and  entered  the  church, 
where  more  than  twenty  women,  young  and  old, 
were  kneeling  on  the  pavement,  in  spite  of  the  ter- 
rible cold. 

"Is  it  not  as  I  said?  "  said  Brainstein.  "They 
are  coming  already  to  pray,  and  half  of  them  have 
been  here  since  five  o'clock." 

He  opened  the  little  door  of  the  steeple  leading 


38  THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

to  the  organ,  and  we  began  climbing  up  in  the  dark. 
Once  in  the  organ-loft,  we  turned  to  the  left  of  the 
bellows,  and  went  up  to  the  bells. 

I  was  glad  to  see  the  blue  sky  and  breathe  the  free 
air  again,  for  the  bad  odor  of  the  bats  which  in- 
habited the  tower  almost  suffocated  me.  But  how 
terrible  the  cold  was  in  that  cage,  open  to  every 
wind,  and  how  dazzlingly  the  snow  shone  over 
twenty  leagues  of  country  !  All  the  little  city  of 
Phalsbourg,  with  its  six  bastions,  three  demilunes, 
two  advanced  works,  its  barracks,  magazines, 
bridges,  glacis,  ramparts  ;  its  great  parade-ground, 
and  little,  well-aligned  houses,  were  beneath  me,  as 
if  drawn  on  white  paper.  I  was  not  yet  accustomed 
to  the  height,  and  I  held  fast  on  the  middle  of  the 
platform  for  fear  I  might  jump  off,  for  I  had  read  of 
people  having  their  heads  turned  by  great  heights. 
I  did  not  dare  go  to  the  clock,  and,  if  Brainstein  had 
not  set  me  the  example,  I  would  have  remained 
there,  pressed  against  the  beam  from  which  the  bells 
hung  ;  but  he  said  : 

"  Come,  Monsieur  Joseph,  and  see  if  it  is 
right." 

Then  I  took  out  Monsieur  Goulden's  large  watch 
which  marked  seconds,  and  I  saw  that  the  clock  was 
considerably  slow.  Brainstein  helped  me  to  wind 
it  up,  and  we  regulated  it. 


THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT  39 

"  The  clock  is  always  slow  in  winter/'  said  he, 
"  because  of  the  iron  working." 

After  becoming  somewhat  accustomed  to  the  ele- 
vation, I  began  to  look  around.  There  were  the 
Oakwood  barracks,  the  upper  barracks,  Bigelberg, 
and  lastly,  opposite  me,  Quatre- Vents,  and  the  house 
of  Aunt  Gredel,  from  the  chimney  of  which  a  thread 
of  blue  smoke  rose  toward  the  sky.  And  I  saw  the 
kitchen,  and  imagined  Catharine,  in  sabots,  and 
woollen  skirt,  spinning  at  the  corner  of  the  hearth 
and  thinking  of  me.  I  no  longer  felt  the  cold  ;  I 
could  not  take  my  eyes  from  their  cottage. 

Father  Brainstein,  who  did  not  know  what  I  was 
looking  at,  said  : 

"  Yes,  yes,  Monsieur  Joseph  :  now  all  the  roads 
are  covered  with  people  in  spite  of  the  snow.  The 
news  has  already  spread,  and  every  one  wants  to 
know  the  extent  of  his  loss." 

He  was  right  ;  every  road  and  path  was  covered 
with  people  coming  to  the  city  ;  and  looking  in  the 
court,  I  saw  the  crowd  increasing  every  moment  be- 
fore the  guard-house,  the  town-house,  and  the  post- 
office.  A  deep  murmur  arose  from  the  mass. 

At  length,  after  a  last,  long  look  at  Catharine's 
house,  I  had  to  descend,  and  we  went  down  the  dark, 
winding  stairs,  as  if  descending  into  a  well.  Once 
in  the  organ-loft,  we  saw  that  the  crowd  had  greatly 


40  THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

increased  in  the  church  ;  all  the  mothers,  the  sis- 
ters, the  old  grandmothers,  the  rich,  and  the  poor, 
were  kneeling  on  the  benches  in  the  midst  of  the 
deepest  silence  ;  they  prayed  for  the  absent,  offer- 
ing all  only  to  see  them  once  again. 

At  first  I  did  not  realize  all  this  ;  but  suddenly 
the  thought  that,  if  I  had  gone  the  year  before, 
Catharine  would  be  there,  praying  and  asking  me  of 
God,  fell  like  a  bolt  on  my  heart,  and  I  felt  all  my 
body  tremble. 

"  Let  us  go  !  let  us  go  !  "  I  exclaimed,  "  this  is 
terrible." 

"What  is?"  he  asked. 

"  War." 

We  descended  the  stairs  under  the  great  gate,  and 
I  went  across  the  court  to  the  house  of  Monsieur  the 
Commandant  Meunier,  while  Brainstein  took  the 
way  to  his  house. 

At  the  corner  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  I  saw  a  sight 
which  I  shall  remember  all  my  life.  There,  around 
a  placard,  were  more  than  five  hundred  people,  men 
and  women  crowded  against  each  other,  all  pale,  and 
with  necks  outstretched,  gazing  at  it  as  at  some  hor- 
rible apparition.  They  could  not  read  it,  and  from 
time  to  time  one  would  say  in  German  or  French  : 

"  But  they  are  not  all  dead  !    Some  will  return." 

Others  cried  out : 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT  41 

"  Let  us  see  it  !  let  us  get  near  it." 

A  poor  old  woman  in  the  rear  lifted  up  her  hands, 
and  cried  : 

"  Christopher  !  my  poor  Christopher  !  " 

Others,  angry  at  her  clamor,  called  out  : 

"  Keep  that  old  woman  quiet." 

Each  one  thought  only  of  himself. 

Behind,  the  crowd  continued  to  pour  through  the 
German  gate. 

At  length,  Harmantier,  the  sergent-de-ville,  came 
out  of  the.  guard-house,  and  stood  at  the  top  of  the 
steps,  with  another  placard  like  the  first  ;  a  few  sol- 
diers followed  him.  Then  a  rush  was  made  toward 
him,  but  the  soldiers  kept  off  the  crowd,  and  old 
Harmantier  began  to  read  the  placard,  which  he 
called  the  twenty-ninth  bulletin,  and  in  which  the 
Emperor  informed  them  that  during  the  retreat  the 
horses  perished  every  night  by  thousands.  He  said 
nothing  of  the  men  ! 

The  sergent-de-ville  read  slowly  ;  not  a  breath 
was  heard  in  the  crowd  ;  even  the  old  woman,  who 
did  not  understand  French,  listened  like  the  others. 
The  buzz  of  a  fly  could  have  been  heard.  But  when 
he  came  to  this  passage,  "  Our  cavalry  was  dis- 
mounted to  such  an  extent  that  we  were  forced  to 
bring  together  the  officers  who  yet  owned  horses  to 
form  four  companies  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  men 


42  THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

each.  Generals  rated  as  captains,  and  colonels  as 
under-officers  " — when  he  read  this  passage,  which 
told  more  of  the  misery  of  the  grand  army  than  all 
the  rest,  cries  and  groans  arose  on  all  sides  ;  two  or 
three  women  fell  and  were  carried  away. 

It  is  true  that  the  bulletin  added,  "  The  health  of 
his  majesty  was  never  better,"  and  that  was  a  great 
consolation.  Unfortunately  it  could  not  restore  life 
to  three  hundred  thousand  men  buried  in  the  snow  ; 
and  so  the  people  went  away  very  sad.  Others 
came  by  dozens  who  had  not  heard  the  news  read, 
and  from  time  to  time  Harmantier  came  out  to  read 
the  bulletin. 

This  lasted  until  night  ;  still  the  same  scene  over 
and  over  again. 

I  ran  from  the  place  ;  I  wanted  to  know  nothing 
about  it. 

I  went  to  Monsieur  the  Commandant's.  Enter- 
ing a  parlor,  I  saw  him  at  breakfast.  He  was  an  old 
man,  but  hale,  with  a  red  face  and  good  appetite. 

"  Ah  !  it  is  you  !  "  said  he,  "  Monsieur  Goulden 
is  not  coming,  then?  " 

"  ISTo,  Monsieur  the  Commandant,  the  bad  news? 
has  made  him  ill." 

"  Ah  !  T  understand,"  he  said,  emptying  his 
glass  ;  "  yes,  it  is  unfortunate." 

And  while  I  was  regulating  the  clock,  he  added  : 


THE  STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT  43 

"  Well!  tell  Monsieur  Goulden  that  we  will  have 
our  revenge.  We  cannot  always  have  the  upper 
hand.  For  fifteen  years  we  have  kept  the  drums 
beating  over  them,  and  it  is  only  right  to  let  them 
have  this  little  morsel  of  consolation.  And  then 
our  honor  is  safe  ;  we  were  not  beaten  fighting  ; 
without  the  cold  and  the  snow,  those  poor  Cossacks 
would  have  had  a  hard  time  of  it.  But  patience  ; 
the  skeletons  of  our  regiments  will  soon  be  filled, 
and  then  let  them  beware." 

I  wound  up  the  clock  ;  he  rose  and  came  to  look 
at  it,  for  he  was  a  great  amateur  in  clock-making. 
He  pinched  my  ear  in  a  merry  mood  ;  and  then,  as 
I  was  going  away,  he  cried  as  he  buttoned  up  his 
overcoat,  which  he  had  opened  before  beginning 
breakfast  : 

"  Tell  Father  Goulden  to  rest  easy  ;  the  dance 
will  begin  again  in  the  spring  ;  the  Kalmucks  will 
not  always  have  winter  fighting  for  them.  Tell 
him  that." 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  the  Commandant,"  I  answered, 
shutting  the  door. 

His  burly  figure  and  air  of  good  humor  comforted 
me  a  little  ;  but  in  all  the  other  houses  I  went  to,  at 
the  Horwiches,  the  Frantz-Tonis,  the  Durlaches, 
everywhere  I  heard  only  lamentations.  The  women 
especially  were  in  misery  ;  the  men  said  nothing, 


44  THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

but  walked  about  with  heads  hanging  down,  and 
without  even  looking  to  see  what  I  was  doing. 

Toward  ten  o'clock  there  only  remained  two  per- 
sons for  me  to  see  :  Monsieur  de  la  Vablerie-Cham- 
berlan,  one  of  the  ancient  nobility,  who  lived  at  the 
end  of  the  main  street,  with  Madame  Chamberlan- 
d'Ecof  and  Mademoiselle  Jeanne,  their  daughter. 
They  were  emigres,  and  had  returned  about  three  or 
four  years  before.  They  saw  no  one  in  the  city, 
and  only  three  or  four  old  priests  in  the  environs. 
Monsieur  de  la  Yablerie-Chamberlan  loved  only  the 
chase.  He  had  six  dogs  at  the  end  of  the  yard,  and 
a  two-horse  carriage  ;  Father  Robert,  of  the  Rue 
des  Capucins,  served  them  as  coachman,  groom, 
footman,  and  huntsman.  Monsieur  de  la  Vablerie- 
Chamberlan  always  wore  a  hunting  vest,  a  leathern 
cap,  and  boots  and  spurs.  All  the  town  called  him 
the  hunter,  but  they  said  nothing  of  Madame  nor  of 
Mademoiselle  de  Chamberlan. 

I  was  very  sad  when  I  pushed  open  the  heavy 
door,  which  closed  with  a  pulley  whose  creaking 
echoed  through  the  vestibule.  What  was  then  my 
surprise  to  hear,  in  the  midst  of  general  mourning, 
the  tones  of  a  song  and  harpsichord !  Monsieur  de 
la  Vablerie  was  singing,  and  Mademoiselle  Jeanne 
accompanying  him.  I  knew  not,  in  those  days,  that 
the  misfortune  of  one  was  often  the  joy  of  others, 


THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT 


45 


and  I  said  to  myself  with  my  hand  on  the  latch  : 
"  They  have  not  heard  the  news  from  Russia." 

But  while  I  stood  thus,  the  door  of  the  kitchen 
opened,  and  Mademoiselle  Louise,  their  servant, 
putting  out  her  head,  asked  : 

"Who  is  there?" 

"  It  is  I,  Mademoiselle  Louise." 

"  Ah  !  it  is  you,  Monsieur  Joseph.  Come  this 
way." 

They  had  their  clock  in  a  large  parlor  which  they 
rarely  entered  ;  the  high  windows,  with  blinds,  re- 
mained closed  ;  but  there  was  light  enough  for 
what  I  had  to  do.  I  passed  then  through  the 
kitchen  and  regulated  the  antique  clock,  which  was 
a  magnificent  piece  of  work  of  white  marble.  Ma- 
demoiselle Louise  looked  on. 

"You  have  company,  Mademoiselle  Louise?" 
said  I. 

"  No,  but  monsieur  ordered  me  to  let  no  one  in." 

"  You  are  very  cheerful  here." 

"  Ah  !  yes,"  she  said  ;  "  and  it  is  for  the  first 
time  in  years  ;  I  don't  know  what  is  the  matter." 

My  work  done,  I  left  the  house,  meditating  on 
these  occurrences,  which  seemed  to  me  strange.  The 
idea  never  entered  my  mind  that  they  were  rejoicing 
at  our  defeat. 

Then  I  turned  the  corner  of  the  street  to  go  to 


46  THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

Father  Feral's,  who  was  called  the  "  Standard- 
bearer,"  because,  at  the  age  of  forty-five,  he,  a 
blacksmith,  and  for  many  years  the  father  of  a  fam- 
ily, had  carried  the  colors  of  the  volunteers  of  Phals- 
bourg  in  '92,  and  only  returned  after  the  Zurich 
campaign.  He  had  his  three  sons  in  the  army  of 
Russia,  Jean,  Louis,  and  George  Feral.  George 
was  commandant  of  dragoons  ;  the  two  others, 
officers  of  infantry. 

I  imagined  the  grief 'of  Father  Feral  while  I  was 
going,  but  it  was  nothing  to  what  I  saw  when  I  en- 
tered his  room.  The  poor  old  man,  blind  and  bald, 
was.  sitting  in  an  arm-chair  behind  the  stove,  his 
head  bowed  upon  his  breast,  and  his  sightless  eyes 
open,  and  staring  as  if  he  saw  his  three  sons  stretched 
at  his  feet.  He  did  not  speak,  but  great  drops  of 
sweat  rolled  down  his  forehead  on  his  long,  thin 
cheeks,  while  his  face  was  pale  as  that  of  a  corpse. 
Four  or  five  of  his  old  comrades  of  the  times  of  the 
Republic — Father  Desmarets,  Father  Nivoi,  old 
Paradis,  and  tall  old  Froissard — had  come  to  console 
him.  They  sat  around  him  in  silence,  smoking 
their  pipes,  and  looking  as  if  they  themselves  needed 
comfort. 

From  time  to  time  one  or  the  other  would  say  : 
"-Come,  come,  Feral !  are  we  no  longer  veterans 
of  the  army  of  the  Sambre-and-Meuse?  " 


THE   STORY    OF  A   CONSCRIPT  47 

Or, 

"  Courage,  Standard-bearer  :  courage  !  Did  we 
not  carry  the  battery  at  Fleurus?  " 

Or  some  other  similar  remark. 

But  he  did  not  reply  ;  every  minute  he  sighed, 
his  aged,  hollow  cheeks  swelled  ;  then  he  leaned 
over,  and  the  old  friends  made  signs  to  each  other, 
shaking  their  heads,  as  if  to  say  : 

"  This  looks  bad." 

I  hastened  to  regulate  the  clock  and  depart,  for  to 
see  the  poor  old  man  in  such  a  plight  made  my  heart 
bleed. 

When  I  arrived  at  home,  I  found  Monsieur 
Goulden  at  his  work-bench. 

"  You  are  returned,  Joseph,"  said  he.     "Well?" 

"  Well,  Monsieur  Goulden,  you  had  reason  to 
stay  away  ;  it  is  terrible." 

And  I  told  him  all  in  detail. 

"  Yes  ;  I  knew  it  all,"  said  he,  sadly,  "  but  our 
misfortunes  are  only  beginning  ;  these  Prussians 
and  Austrians  and  Russians  and  Spaniards — all  the 
nations  we  have  been  beating  since  eighteen  hun- 
dred and  four,  are  now  taking  advantage  of  our  ill 
luck  to  fall  upon  us.  We  gave  them  kings  and 
queens  they  did  not  know  from  Adam  nor  Eve,  and 
whom  they  did  not  want,  it  seems,  and  now  they  are 
going  to  bring  back  the  old  ones  with  all  their  trains 


48  THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

of  nobles,  and  after  pouring  out  our  blood  for  the 
Emperor's  brothers,  we  are  about  losing  all  we 
gained  by  the  Kevolution.  Instead  of  being  first 
among  the  first  we  will  be  last  among  the  last. 
While  you  were  away  I  was  thinking  of  all  this  ;  it 
is  unavoidable — We  relied  upon  soldiers  alone,  and 
now  that  we  have  no  more,  we  are  nothing." 

He  arose.  I  set  the  table,  and,  whilst  we  were 
dining  in  silence,  the  bells  of  the  steeples  began  to 
ring. 

"  Some  one  is  dead  in  the  city,"  said  Monsieur 
Goulden. 

"  Indeed?     I  did  not  hear  of  it." 

Ten  minutes  after,  the  Rabbi  Rose  came  in  to 
have  a  glass  put  in  his  watch. 

"  Who  is  dead?  "  asked  Monsieur  Goulden. 

"  Poor  old  Standard-bearer." 

"What!  Father  Feral?" 

"  Yes,  near  an  hour  ago.  Father  Desmarets  and 
several  others  tried  to  comfort  him  ;  at  last  he  asked 
them  to  read  to  him  the  last  letter  of  his  son  George, 
the  commandant  of  dragoons,  in  which  he  says  that 
next  spring  he  hoped  to  embrace  his  father  with  a 
colonel's  epaulettes.  As  the  old  man  heard  this,  he 
tried  to  rise,  but  fell  back  with  his  head  upon  his 
knees.  That  letter  had  broken  his  heart." 

Monsieur  Goulden  made  no  remark  on  the  news. 


THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT 


49 


"  Here  is  your  watch,  Monsieur  Rose,"  said  he, 
handing  it  back  to  the  rabbi  ;  "  it  is  twelve  sous." 

Monsieur  Rose  departed,  and  we  finished  our  din- 
ner in  silence. 


A  FEW  days  after,  the  gazette  announced  that  the 
Emperor  was  in  Paris,  and  that  the  King  of  Rome 
and  the  Empress  Marie-Louise  were  about  to  be 
crowned.  Monsieur  the  Mayor,  his  coadjutor  and 
the  municipal  councillors  now  spoke  only  of  the 
rights  of  the  throne,  and  Professor  Burguet,  the 
elder,  wrote  a  speech  on  the  subject  which  Baron 
Parmentier  read.  But  all  this  produced  but  little 
effect  on  the  people,  because  every  one  was  afraid  of 
being  carried  off  by  the  conscription,  and  knew  that 
many  more  soldiers  were  needed  ;  all  were  in 
trouble,  and  I  grew  thinner  day  by  day.  In  vain 
would  Monsieur  Goulden  say  :  "  Fear  nothing, 
Joseph  ;  you  cannot  march.  Consider,  my  child, 
that  any  one  as  lame  as  you  would  give  out  at  the 
end  of  the  first  mile." 

But  all  this  did  not  lessen  my  uneasiness. 

Monsieur  Goulden,  often,  too,  when  we  were 
alone  at  work,  would  say  to  me  : 

"  If  those  who  are  now  masters,  and  who  tell  as 
that  God  placed  them  here  on  earth  to  make  us 

50 


THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT  51 

happy,  would  foresee  at  the  beginning  of  a  campaign 
the  poor  old  men,  the  hapless  mothers,  whose  very 
hearts  they  have  torn  away  to  satisfy  their  pride — 
if  they  could  see  the  tears  and  hear  the  groans  of 
these  poor  people  when  they  are  coldly  told  '  Your 
son  is  dead  ;  you  will  see  him  no  more  ;  he  per- 
ished, crushed  by  horses'  hoofs,  or  torn  to  pieces  by 
a  cannon-ball,  or  died  mayhap  afar  off  in  a  hospital, 
after  having  his  arm  or  leg  cut  off, — burning  with 
fever,  without  one  kind  word  to  console  him,  but 
calling  for  his  parents  as  when  he  was  an  infant,' — • 
if,  I  say,  these  haughty  ones  of  earth  could  thus  see 
the  tears  of  those  mothers,  I  do  not  believe  that  one 
among  them  would  be  barbarous  enough  to  continue 
the  war.  But  they  think  nothing  of  this  ;  they 
think  other  folks  do  not  love  their  children  as  they 
love  theirs  ;  they  think  people  are  no  more  than 
beasts.  They  are  wrong  ;  all  their  great  genius, 
their  lofty  notions  of  glory,  are  as  nothing,  for  there 
is  only  one  thing  for  which  a  people  should  fly  to 
arms — men,  women,  children — old  and  young.  It 
is  when  their  liberty  is  assailed  as  ours  was  in  '92 — 
then  all  should  die  or  conquer  together  ;  he  who  re- 
mains behind  is  a  coward,  who  would  have  others 
fight  for  him  ; — the  victory  then  is  not  for  a  few, 
but  for  all  ; — then  sons  and  fathers  are  defending 
their  f amilies  j  if  they  are  killed,  it  is  a  misfortune, 


52  THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

to  be  sure,  but  they  die  for  their  rights.  Such  a 
man,  Joseph,  is  the  only  just  one,  the  one  of  which 
no  one  can  complain  ;  all  others  are  shameful,  and 
the  glory  they  bring  is  not  glory  fit  for  a  man,  but 
only  for  a  wild  beast." 

On  the  eighth  of  January,  a  huge  placard  was 
posted  on  the  town-hall,  stating  that  the  Emperor 
would  levy,  after  a  senatus-consultus,  as  they  said 
IJQ.  those  days,  in  the  first  place,  one  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  conscripts  of  1813  ;  then  one  hun- 
dred cohort es  of  the  first  call  of  1812  who  thought 
they  had  already  escaped  ;  then  one  hundred  thou- 
sand conscripts  of  from  1809  to  1812,  and  so  on  to 
the  end  ;  so  that  every  loop-hole  was  closed,  and  we 
would  have  a  larger  army  than  before  the  Russian 
expedition. 

When  Father  Fouze,  the  glazier,  came  to  us  with 
this  news,  one  morning,  I  almost  fell,  through  faint- 
ness,  for  I  thought  : 

"  Now  they  will  take  all,  even  fathers  of  families. 
I  am  lost  !  " 

Monsieur  Goulden  poured  some  water  on  my 
neck  ;  my  arms  hung  useless  by  my  side  ;  I  was 
pale  as  a  corpse. 

But  I  was  not  the  only  one  upon  whom  the  pla- 
card had  such  an  effect  :  that  year  many  young  men 
refused  to  go  ;  some  broke  their  teeth  off,  so  as  not 


THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT  53 

to  be  able  to  tear  the  cartridge  ;  others  blew  off 
their  thumbs  with  pistols,  so  as  not  to  be  able  to 
hold  a  musket  ;  others,  again,  fled  to  the  woods  ; 
they  proclaimed  them  "  refractories,"  but  they  had 
not  gendarmes  enough  to  capture  them. 

The  mothers  of  families  took  courage  to  revolt 
after  a  manner,  and  to  encourage  their  sons  not  to 
obey  the  gendarmes.  They  aided  them  in  every 
way  ;  they  cried  out  against  the  Emperor,  and  the 
clergy  of  all  denominations  sustained  them  in  so  do- 
ing. The  cup  was  at  last  full  ! 

The  very  day  of  the  proclamation  I  went  to 
Quatre- Vents  ;  but  it  was  not  now  in  the  joy  of  my 
heart  ;  it  was  as  the  most  miserable  of  unhappy 
wretches,  about  to  be  bereft  of  love  and  life.  I 
could  scarcely  walk,  and  when  I  reached  there  I  did 
not  know  how  to  announce  the  evil  tidings  ;  but  I 
saw  at  a  glance  that  they  knew  all,  for  Catharine 
was  weeping  bitterly,  and  Aunt  Gredel  was  pale 
with  indignation. 

We  embraced  in  silence,  and  the  first  words  Aunt 
Gredel  said  to  me,  as  in  her  anger  she  pushed  her 
gray  hair  behind  her  ears,  were  : 

"  You  shall  not  go  !  What  have  we  to  do  with 
wars?  The  priest  himself  told  us  it  was  at  last  too 
much,  and  that  we  ought  to  have  peace  !  You 
shall  not  go  !  Do  not  cry,  Catharine  ;  I  say  he 
shall  not  go  !  " 


54  THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

She  was  fairly  green  with  anger,  and  rattled  her 
kettles  noisily  together,  saying  : 

"  This  carnage  has  lasted  long  enough.  Our  two 
poor  cousins,  Kasper  and  Yokel,  are  already  going 
to  lose  their  lives  in  Spain  for  this  Emperor,  and 
now  he  comes  to  ask  us  for  the  younger  ones.  He 
is  not  satisfied  to  have  slain  three  hundred  thousand 
in  Russia.  Instead  of  thinking  of  peace,  like  a  man 
of  sense,  he  thinks  only  of  massacring  the  few  who 
remain.  We  will  see  !  We  will  see  !  " 

"  In  the  name  of  Heaven  !  Aunt  Gredel,  be 
quiet  ;  speak  lower,"  said  I,  looking  at  the  win- 
dow. "  If  they  hear  you,  we  are  lost." 

"  I  speak  for  them  to  hear  me,"  she  replied. 
"  Your  Napoleon  does  not  frighten  me.  He  com- 
menced by  closing  our  mouths,  so  that  he  might  do 
as  he  pleased  ;  but  the  end  approaches.  Four 
young  women  are  losing  their  husbands  in  our  vil- 
lage alone,  and  ten  poor  young  men  are  forced  to 
abandon  everything,  despite  father,  mother,  re- 
ligion, justice,  God  !  Is  not  this  horrible?  " 

I  tried  to  answer,  but  she  kept  on  : 

"  Hold,  Joseph,"  said  she  ;  "  be  silent  ;  your 
Emperor  has  no  heart — he  will  end  miserably  yet. 
God  showed  his  finger  this  winter  ;  He  saw  that  we 
feared  a  man  more  than  we  feared  Him  ;  that 
mothers — like  those  whose  babes  Herod  slew — 


THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT  55 

dared  no  longer  cling  to  their  own  flesh  when  that 
man  demanded  them  for  massacre  ;  and  so  the  cold 
came  and  our  army  perished  ;  and  now  those  who 
are  leaving  us  are  the  same  as  already  dead.  God 
is  weary  of  all  this  !  .  You  shall  not  go  !  "  cried  she 
obstinately  ;  "I  shall  not  let  you  go  ;  you  shall  fly 
to  the  woods  with  Jean  Kraft,  Louis  Berne,  and  all 
our  bravest  fellows  ;  you  shall  go  to  the  mountains 
— to  Switzerland,  and  Catharine  and  I  will  go  with 
you  and  remain  until  this  destruction  of  men  is 
ended." 

Then  Aunt  Gredel  became  silent.  Instead  of 
giving  us  an  ordinary  dinner,  she  gave  us  a  better 
one  than  on  Catharine's  birthday,  and  said,  with  the 
air  of  one  who  has  taken  a  resolution  : 

"  Eat,  my  children,  and  fear  not  ;  there  will  soon 
be  a  change  !  " 

I  returned  about  four  in  the  evening  to  Phals- 
bourg,  somewhat  calmer  than  when  I  set  out.  But 
as  I  went  up  the  Rue  de  la  Munitionnaire,  I  heard 
at  the  corner  of  the  college  the  drum  of  the  sergent- 
de-ville,  Harmantier,  and  I  saw  a  throng  gathered 
around  him.  I  ran  to  hear  what  was  going  on,  and 
I  arrived  just  as  he  began  reading  a  proclamation. 

Harmantier  read  that,  by  the  senatus-consultus 
of  the  3d,  the  drawing  for  the  conscription  would 
take  place  on  the  15th. 


56  THE   STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT 

It  was  already  the  8th,  and  only  seven  days  re- 
mained. This  upset  me  completely. 

The  crowd  dispersed  in  the  deepest  silence.  I 
went  home  sad  enough,  and  said  to  Monsieur 
Goulden  : 

"  The  drawing  takes  place  next  Thursday." 

"  Ah  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  they  are  losing  no  time, 
things  are  pressing." 

It  is  easy  to  imagine  my  grief  that  day  and  the 
days  following.  I  could  scarcely  stand  ;  I  con- 
stantly saw  myself  on  the  point  of  leaving  home.  I 
saw  myself  flying  to  the  woods,  the  gendarmes  at 
my  heels,  crying,  "  Halt  !  halt  ! "  Then  I 
thought  of  the  misery  of  Catharine,  of  Aunt  Gredel, 
of  Monsieur  Goulden.  Then  I  imagined  myself 
marching  in  the  ranks  with  a  number  of  other 
wretches,  to  whom  they  were  crying  out,  "  Forward ! 
charge  bayonets!  "  while  whole  files  were  being 
swept  away.  I  heard  bullets  whistle  and  shells 
shriek  ;  in  a  word,  I  was  in  a  pitiable  state. 

"  Be  calm,  Joseph,"  said  Monsieur  Goulden  ; 
"  do  not  torment  yourself  thus.  I  think  that  of  all 
who  may  be  drawn  there  are  probably  not  ten  who 
can  give  as  good  reasons  as  you  for  staying  at  home. 
The  surgeon  must  be  blind  to  receive  you.  Be- 
sides, I  will  see  Monsieur  the  Commandant.  Calm 
yourself." 


THE    STORY    OF    A    CONSCRIPT  57 

But  these  kind  words  could  not  reassure  me. 

Thus  I  passed  an  entire  week  almost  in  a  trance, 
and  when  the  day  of  the  drawing  arrived,  Thursday 
morning,  I  was  so  pale,  so  sick-looking  that  the 
parents  of  conscripts  envied,  so  to  speak,  my  appear- 
ance for  their  sons.  "  That  fellow,"  they  said, 
"  has  a  chance  ;  he  would  drop  the  first  mile.  Some 
people  are  born  under  a  lucky  star  !  " 


VI 

THE  town-house  of  Phalsbourg,  that  Thursday 
morning,  January  15,  1813,  during  the  drawing 
of  the  conscription,  was  a  sight  to  be  seen.  To-day 
it  is  bad  enough  to  be  drawn,  to  be  forced  to  leave 
parents,  friends,  home,  one's  cattle  and  one's  fields, 
to  go  and  learn — God  knows  where — "  One!  two! 
one!  two!  halt!  eyes  left!  eyes  right!  front! 
carry  arms !  "  etc.,  etc.  Yes,  this  is  all  bad  enough, 
but  there  is  a  chance  of  returning.  One  can  say, 
with  something  like  confidence :  "  In  seven  years 
I  shall  see  my  old  nest  again,  and  my  parents,  and 
perhaps  my  sweetheart.  I  shall  have  seen  the 
world,  and  will  perhaps  have  some  title  to  be  ap- 
pointed forester  or  gendarme."  This  is  a  comfort 
for  reasonable  people.  But  then,  if  you  had  the  ill- 
luck  to  lose  in  the  lottery,  there  was  an  end  of  you; 
often  not  one  in  a  hundred  returned.  The  idea 
that  you  were  only  going  for  a  time  never  entered 
your  head. 

The  enrolled  of  Harberg,  of  Garbourg,  aRd  of 
Quatre- Vents  were  to  draw  first;  then  those  of  the 
58 


THE    STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT  59 

city,  and  lastly  those  of  Wechem  and  Mittel- 
bronn. 

I  was  up  early  in  the  morning,  and  with  my 
elbows  on  the  work-bench  I  watched  the  people 
pass  by;  young  men  in  blouses,  poor  old  men  in 
cotton  caps  and  short  vests;  old  women  in  jackets 
and  woollen  skirts,  bent  almost  double,  with  a  staff 
or  umbrella  under  their  arms.  They  arrived  by 
families.  Monsieur  the  Sub-Prefect  of  Sarrebourg, 
with  his  silver  collar,  and  his  secretary,  had 
stopped  the  day  before  at  the  "  Red  Ox,"  and  they 
were  also  looking  out  of  the  window.  Toward 
eight  o'clock,  Monsieur  Goulden  began  work,  after 
breakfasting.  I  ate  nothing,  but  stared  and  stared 
until  Monsieur  the  Mayor  Parmentier  and  his  co- 
adjutor, came  for  Monsieur  the  Sub-Prefect. 

The  drawing  began  at  nine,  and  soon  we  heard 
the  clarionet  of  Pfifer-Karl  and  the  violin  of  big 
Andres  resounding  through  the  streets.  They 
were  playing  the  "  March  of  the  Swedes,"  an  air 
to  which  thousands  of  poor  wretches  had  left  old 
Alsace  for  ever.  The  conscripts  danced,  linked 
arms,  shouted  until  their  voices  seemed  to  pierce 
the  clouds,  stamped  on  the  ground,  waved  their 
hats,  trying  to  seem  joyful  while  death  was  at  their 
hearts.  Well,  it  was  the  fashion;  and  big  Andres, 
withered,  stiff,  and  yellow  as  boxwood,  and  his 


60  THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

short  chubby  comrade,  with  cheeks  extended  to 
their  utmost  tension,  seemed  like  people  who  would 
lead  you  to  the  church-yard  all  the  while  chatting 
indifferently. 

That  music,  those  cries,  sent  a  shudder  through 
my  heart. 

I  had  just  put  on  my  swallow-tailed  coat  and 
my  beaver  hat,  to  go  out,  when  Aunt  Gredel  and 
Catharine  entered,  saying: 

"  Good-morning,  Monsieur  Goulden.  We  have 
come  for  the  conscription." 

Then  I  saw  how  Catharine  had  been  crying. 
Her  eyes  were  red,  and  she  threw  her  arms  around 
my  neck,  while  her  mother  turned  to  me. 

Monsieur  Goulden  said : 

"  It  will  soon  be  the  turn  of  the  young  men  of 
the  town." 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  Goulden,"  answered  Catharine 
in  a  choking  voice;  "  they  have  finished  Harberg." 

"  Then  it  is  time  for  you  to  go,  Joseph,"  said 
he;  "  but  do  not  grieve;  do  not  be  frightened. 
These  drawings,  you  know,  are  only  a  matter  of 
form.  For  a  long  while  past  none  can  escape;  for 
if  they  escape  one  drawing,  they  are  caught  a  year 
or  two  after.  All  the  numbers  are  bad.  When 
the  council  of  exemption  meets,  we  will  see  what 
is  best  to  be  done.  To-day  it  is  merely  a  sort  of 


THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT  61 

satisfaction  they  give  the  people  to  draw  in  the 
lottery;  but  every  one  loses." 

"  No  matter,"  said  Aunt  Gredel ;  "  Joseph  will 
win." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  replied  Monsieur  Goulden,  smiling, 
"  he  cannot  fail." 

Then  I  sallied  forth  with  Catharine  and  Aunt 
Gredel,  and  we  went  to  the  town  square,  where 
the  crowd  was.  In  all  the  shops,  dozens  of  con- 
scripts, purchasing  ribbons,  thronged  around  the 
counters,  weeping  and  singing  as  if  possessed. 
Others  in  the  inns  embraced,  sobbing;  but  still 
they  sang.  Two  or  three  musicians  of  the  neigh- 
borhood— the  Gipsy  Walteufel,  Rosselkasten,  and 
George  Adam — had  arrived,  and  their  pieces  thun- 
dered in  terrible  and  heart-rending  strains. 

Catharine  squeezed  my  arm.  Aunt  Gredel  fol- 
lowed. 

Opposite  the  guard-house  I  saw  the  pedler  Pin- 
acle  afar  off,  his  pack  opened  on  a  little  table,  and 
beside  it  a  long  pole  decked  with  ribbons  which  he 
was  selling  to  the  conscripts. 

I  hastened  to  pass  by  him,  when  he  cried : 

"Ha!  Cripple!  Halt!  Come  here;  I  have  a 
ribbon  for  you;  you  must  have  a  magnificent  one 
— one  to  draw  a  prize  by." 

He  waved  a  long  black  ribbon  above  his  head, 


62  THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT 

and  I  grew  pale  despite  myself.  But  as  we  as- 
cended the  steps  of  the  town-house,  a  conscript 
was  just  descending;  it  was  Klipfel,  the  smith  of 
the  French  gate;  he  had  drawn  number  eight,  and 
shouted : 

"The  black  for  me,  Pinacle!  Bring  it  here, 
whatever  may  happen." 

His  face  was  gloomy,  but  he  laughed.  His  little 
brother  Jean  was  crying  behind  him,  and  said: 

"  No,  no,  Jacob!  not  the  black!  " 

But  Pinacle  fastened  the  ribbon  to  the  smith's 
hat,  while  the  latter  said: 

"  That  is  what  we  want  now.  We  are  all  dead, 
and  should  wear  our  own  mourning." 

And  he  cried  savagely: 

"  Vive  VEmpcreur! " 

I  was  better  satisfied  to  see  the  black  ribbon  on 
his  hat  than  on  mine,  and  I  slipped  quickly  through 
the  crowd  to  avoid  Pinacle. 

We  had  great  difficulty  in  getting  into  the  town- 
house  and  in  climbing  the  old  oak  stairs,  where 
people  were  going  up  and  down  in  swarms.  In 
the  great  hall  above,  the  gendarme  Kelz  walked 
about  maintaining  order  as  well  as  he  could,  and 
in  the  council-chamber  at  the  side,  where  there 
was  a  painting  of  Justice  with  her  eyes  blind- 
folded, we  heard  them  calling  off  the  numbers. 


THE   STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT  63 

From  time  to  time  a  conscript  came  out  with 
flushed  face,  fastening  his  number  to  his  cap  and 
passing  with  bowed  head  through  the  crowd,  like 
a  furious  bull  who  cannot  see  clearly  and  who 
would  seem  to  wish  to  break  his  horns  against  the 
walls.  Others,  on  the  contrary,  passed  as  pale  as 
death.  The  windows  of  the  town-house  were  open, 
and  without  we  heard  six  or  seven  pieces  playing 
together.  It  was  horrible. 

I  pressed  Catharine's  hand,  and  we  passed  slowly 
through  the  crowd  to  the  hall  where  Monsieur  the 
Sub-Prefect,  the  Mayors,  and  the  Secretaries  were 
seated  on  their  tribune,  calling  the  numbers  aloud, 
as  if  pronouncing  sentence  of  death  in  a  court  of 
justice,  for  all  these  numbers  were  really  sentences 
of  death. 

We  waited  a  long  while. 

It  seemed  as  if  there  was  no  longer  a  drop  of 
blood  in  my  veins,  when  at  last  my  name  was  called. 

I  stepped  up,  seeing  and  hearing  nothing;  I  put 
my  hand  in  the  box  and  drew  a  number. 

Monsieur  the  Sub-Prefect  cried  out: 

"  Number  seventeen." 

Then  I  left  without  speaking,  Catharine  and 
her  mother  behind  me.  We  went  out  into  the 
square,  and,  the  air  reviving  me,  I  remembered 
that  I  had  drawn  number  seventeen. 


64  THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

Aunt  Gredel  seemed  confounded. 

"  And  I  put  something  into  your  pocket,  too," 
said  she ;  "  but  that  rascal  of  a  Pinacle  gave  you 
ill-luck." 

At  the  same  time  she  drew  from  my  coat-pocket 
the  end  of  a  cord.  Great  drops  of  sweat  rolled  down 
my  forehead;  Catharine  was  white  as  marble,  and 
so  we  went  back  to  Monsieur  Goulden's. 

"  What  number  did  you  draw,  Joseph? "  he 
asked,  as  soon  as  he  saw  us. 

"  Seventeen,"  replied  Aunt  Gredel,  sitting  down 
with  her  hands  upon  her  knees. 

Monsieur  Goulden  seemed  troubled  for  a  mo- 
ment, but  he  said  instantly: 

"  One  is  as  good  as  another.  All  will  go;  the 
skeletons  must  be  filled.  But  it  don't  matter  for 
Joseph.  I  will  go  and  see  Monsieur  the  Mayor  and 
Monsieur  the  Commandant.  It  will  be  telling  no 
lie  to  say  that  Joseph  is  lame;  all  the  town  knows 
that;  but  among  so  many  they  may  overlook  him. 
That  is  why  I  go,  so  rest  easy;  do  not  be  anxious." 

These  words  of  good  Monsieur  Goulden  reas- 
sured Aunt  Gredel  and  Catharine,  who  returned 
to  Quatre- Vents  full  of  hope;  but  they  did  not 
affect  me,  for  from  that  moment  I  had  not  a  mo- 
ment of  rest  day  or  night. 

The  Emperor  had  a  good  custom:  he  did  not 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT  65 

allow  the  conscripts  to  languish,  at  home.  Soon  as 
the  drawing  was  complete,  the  council  of  revision 
met,  and  a  few  days  after  came  the  orders  of  march. 
He  did  not  do  like  those  tooth-pullers  who  first 
show  you  their  pincers  and  hooks  and  gaze  for  an 
hour  into  your  mouth,  so  that  you  feel  half  dead 
before  they  make  up  their  minds  to  begin  work: 
he  proceeded  without  loss  of  time. 

A  week  after  the  drawing,  the  council  of  revi- 
sion sat  at  the  town-hall,  with  all  the  mayors  and  a 
few  notables  of  the  country  to  give  advice  in  case 
of  need. 

The  day  before  Monsieur  Goulden  had  put  on 
his  brown  great-coat  and  his  best  wig  to  go  to  wind 
up  Monsieur  the  Mayor's  clock  and  that  of  the 
Commandant.  He  returned  laughing  and  said : 

"  All  goes  well,  Joseph.  Monsieur  the  Mayor 
and  Monsieur  the  Commandant  know  that  you  are 
lame;  that  is  easy  enough  to  be  seen.  They  re- 
plied at  once,  Eh,  Monsieur  Goulden,  the  young 
man  is  lame;  why  speak  of  him?  Do  not  be  un- 
easy; we  do  not  want  the  infirm;  we  want  sol- 
diers." 

These  words  poured  balm  on  my  wounds,  and 

that  night  I  slept  like  one  of  the  blessed.    But  the 

next  day  fear  again  assailed  me;  I  remembered 

suddenly  how  many  men  full  of  defects  had  gone 

5 


66  THE   STORY    OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

all  the  same,  and  how  many  others  invented  de- 
fects to  deceive  the  council;  for  instance,  swallow- 
ing injurious  substances  to  make  them  pale;  tying 
up  their  legs  to  give  themselves  swollen  veins;  or 
playing  deaf,  blind,  or  foolish.  Thinking  over  all 
these  things,  I  trembled  at  not  being  lame  enough, 
and  determined  that  I  would  appear  sufficiently 
forlorn.  I  had  heard  that  vinegar  would  make  one 
sick,  and  without  telling  Monsieur  Goulden,  in  my 
fear  I  swallowed  all  the  vinegar  in  his  bottle.  Then 
I  dressed  myself,  thinking  that  I  looked  like  a  dead 
man,  for  the  vinegar  was  very  strong;  but  when 
I  entered  Monsieur  G Gulden's  room,  he  cried  out: 

"  Joseph,  what  is  the  matter  with  you?  Yon 
are  as  red  as  a  cock's  comb." 

And,  looking  at  myself  in  the  mirror,  I  saw  that 
my  face  was  red  to  my  ears,  and  to  the  tip  of  my 
nose.  I  was  frightened,  but  instead  of  growing  pale 
I  became  redder  yet,  and  I  cried  out  in  my  distress*: 

"  Now  I  am  lost  indeed !  I  will  seem  like  a  man 
without  a  single  defect,  and  full  of  health.  The 
vinegar  is  rushing  to  my  head." 

"  What  vinegar?  "  asked  Monsieur  Goulden. 

"  That  in  your  bottle.  I  drank  it  to  make  my- 
self pale,  as  they  say  Mademoiselle  Sclapp,  the  or- 
ganist does.  O  heavens!  what  a  fool  I  was." 

*'  That  does  not  prevent  your  being  lame/'  said 


THE  STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT  67 

Monsieur  Goulden;  "  but  you  tried  to  deceive  the 
council,  which  was  dishonest.  But  it  is  half-past 
nine,  and  Werner  is  come  to  tell  me  you  must  be 
there  at  ten  o'clock.  So,  hurry." 

I  had  to  go  in  that  state;  the  heat  of  the  vinegar 
seemed  bursting  from  my  cheeks,  and  when  I  met 
Catharine  and  her  mother,  who  were  waiting  for 
me  at  the  town-house,  they  scarcely  knew  me. 

"  How  happy  and  satisfied  you  look!  "  said  Aunt 
Gredel. 

I  would  have  fainted  on  hearing  this  if  the 
vinegar  had  not  sustained  me  in  spite  of  myself. 
I  wrent  upstairs  in  terrible  agony,  without  being 
able  to  move  my  tongue  to  reply,  so  great  was  the 
horror  I  felt  at  my  folly. 

Upstairs,  more  than  twenty-five  conscripts  who 
pretended  to  be  infirm,  had  been  examined  and  re- 
ceived, while  twenty-five  others,  on  a  bench  along 
the  wall,  sat  with  drooping  heads  awaiting  their 
turn. 

The  old  gendarme,  Kelz,  with  his  huge  cocked 
hat,  was  walking  about,  and  as  soon  as  he  saw  me, 
exclaimed : 

"  At  last!  At  last!  Here  is  one,  at  all  events, 
who  will  not  be  sorry  to  go;  the  love  of  glory  is 
shining  in  his  eyes.  Very  good,  Joseph;  I  predict 
that  at  the  end  of  the  campaign  you  will  be  cor- 
poral.* 


68  THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

"  But  I  am  lame,"  I  cried,  angrily. 

"Lame!  "  repeated  Kelz,  winking  and  smiling, 
"  lame !  No  matter.  With  such  health  as  jours 
you  can  always  hold  your  own." 

He  had  scarcely  ceased  speaking  when  the  door 
of  the  hall  of  the  Council  of  Revision  opened,  and 
the  other  gendarme,  Werner,  putting  out  his  head, 
called  me  by  name,  "  Joseph  Bertha." 

I  entered,  limping  as  much  as  I  could,  and  Wer- 
ner shut  the  door.  The  mayors  of  the  canton  were 
seated  in  a  semicircle,  Monsieur  the  Sub-Prefect 
and  the  Mayor  of  Phalsbourg  in  the  middle,  in  arm- 
chairs, and  the  Secretary  Freylig  at  his  table.  A 
Harberg  conscript  was  dressing  himself,  the  gen- 
darme Descarmes  helping  him  put  on  his  suspend- 
ers. This  conscript,  with  a  mass  of  brown  hair  fall- 
ing over  his  eyes,  his  neck  bare,  and  his  mouth  open 
as  he  caught  his  breath,  seemed  like  a  man  going 
to  be  hanged.  Two  surgeons — the  Surgeon-in- 
Chief  of  the  Hospital,  with  another  in  uniform — 
were  conversing  in  the  middle  of  the  hall.  They 
turned  to  me  saying,  "  Undress  yourself." 

I  did  so,  even  to  my  shirt.    The  others  looked  on. 

Monsieur  the  Sub-Prefect  observed: 

"  There  is  a  young  man  full  of  health." 

These  words  angered  me,  but  I  nevertheless  re- 
plied respectfully : 


THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT  Jg 

"  I  am  lame,  Monsieur  the  Sub-Prefect." 

The  surgeon  examined  me,  and  the  one  from 
the  hospital,  to  whom  Monsieur  the  Commandant 
had  doubtless  spoken  of  me,  said: 

"  The  left  leg  is  a  little  short." 

"  Bah!  "  said  the  other;  "  it  is  sound." 

Then  placing  his  hand  upon  my  chest  he  said, 
"  The  conformation  is  good.  Cough." 

I  coughed  as  feebly  as  I  could ;  but  he  found  me 
all  right,  and  said  again : 

"  Look  at  his  color.  How  good  his  blood  must 
be!" 

Then  I,  seeing  that  they  would  pass  me  if  I  re- 
mained silent,  replied : 

"  I  have  been  drinking  vinegar." 

"  Ah !  "  said  he ;  "  that  proves  you  have  a  good 
stomach;  you  like  vinegar." 

"  But  I  am  lame !  "      I  cried  in  my  distress. 

"Bah!  don't  grieve  at  that,"  he  answered; 
"  your  leg  is  sound.  I'll  answer  for  it." 

"  But  that,"  said  Monsieur  the  Mayor,  "  does 
not  prevent  his  being  lame  from  birth;  all  Phals- 
bourg  knows  that." 

"  The  leg  is  too  short,"  said  the  surgeon  from 
the  hospital ;  "  it  is  doubtless  a  case  for  exemp- 
tion." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Mayor;  "  I  am  sure  that  this 


70  THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

young  man  could  not  endure  a  long  march;  lie 
would  drop  on  the  road  the  second  mile." 

The  first  surgeon  said  nothing  more. 

I  thought  myself  saved,  when  Monsieur  the  Sub- 
Prefect  asked: 

"  You  are  really  Joseph  Bertha?  " 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  the  Sub-Prefect,"  I  answered. 

"  Well,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  taking  a  letter  out 
of  his  portfolio,  "  listen." 

He  began  to  read  the  letter,  which  stated  that, 
six  months  before,  I  had  bet  that  I  could  go  to 
Laverne  and  back  quicker  than  Pinacle;  that  we 
had  run  the  race,  and  I  had  won. 

It  was  unhappily  too  true.  The  villain  Pinacle 
had  always  taunted  me  with  being  a  cripple,  and 
in  my  anger  I  laid  the  wager.  Every  one  knew 
of  it.  I  could  not  deny  it. 

While  I  stood  utterly  confounded,  the  first 
surgeon  said : 

"  That  settles  the  ouestion.  Dress  yourself." 
And  turning  to  the  secretary,  he  cried,  ';  Good 
for  service." 

I  took  up  my  coat  in  despair. 

Werner  called  another.  I  no  longer  saw  any- 
thing. Some  one  helped  me  to  get  my  arms  in 
my  coat-sleeves.  Then  I  found  myself  upon  the 
stairs,  and  while  Catharine  asked  me  what  had 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT  7I 

passed,  I  sobbed  aloud  and  would  have  fallen  from 
top  to  bottom  if  Aunt  Gredel  had  not  supported 
me. 

We  went  out  by  the  rear-way  and  crossed  the 
little  court.  I  wept  like  a  child,  and  Catharine 
did  too.  Out  in  the  hall,  in  the  shadow,  we  stopped 
to  embrace  each  other. 

Aunt  Gredel  cried  out : 

"Oh  the  robbers!  They  are  taking  the  lame 
and  the  sick.  It  is  all  the  same  to  them;  next  they 
will  take  us." 

A  crowd  began  collecting,  and  Sepel  the  butcher, 
who  was  cutting  meat  in  the  stall,  said: 

"  Mother  Gredel,  in  the  name  of  Heaven  keep 
quiet.  They  will  put  you  in  prison." 

"  Well,  let  them  put  me  there !  "  she  cried,  "  let 
them  murder  me.  I  say  that  men  are  fools  to 
allow  such  outrages!  " 

But  the  sergcnt-dc-viUe  was  coming  up,  and  we 
went  on  together  weeping.  We  turned  the  cor- 
ner of  Cafe  Hemmerle,  and  went  into  our  own 
house.  People  looked  at  us  from  the  windows  and 
said,  "  There  is  another  one  who  is  going." 

Monsieur  Goulden  knowing  that  Aunt  Gredel 
and  Catharine  would  come  to  dine  with  us  the  day 
of  the  revision,  had  had  a  stuffed  goose  and  two 
bottles  of  good  Alsace  wine  sent  from  the  "  Golden 


72  THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

Sheep."  He  was  sure  that  I  would  be  exempted 
at  once.  What  was  his  surprise,  then,  to  see  us 
enter  together  in  such  distress. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  "  said  he,  raising  his  silk 
cap  over  his  bald  forehead,  and  staring  at  us  with 
eyes  wide  open. 

I  had  not  strength  enough  to  answer.  I  threw 
myself  into  the  arm-chair  and  burst  into  tears. 
Catharine  sat  down  beside  ine,  and  our  sobs  re- 
doubled. 

Aunt  Gredel  said : 

"  The  robbers  have  taken  him." 

"  It  is  not  possible !  "  exclaimed  Monsieur  Goul- 
den,  letting  fall  his  arms  by  his  side. 

"  It  shows  their  villainy,"  replied  my  aunt,  and 
growing  more  and  more  excited,  she  cried,  "  Will 
a  revolution  never  come  again?  Shall  those 
wretches  always  be  our  masters?  " 

"  Calm  yourself,  Mother  Gredel,"  said  Monsieur 
Goulclen.  "  In  the  name  of  Heaven  don't  cry  so 
loud.  Joseph,  tell  me  how  it  happened.  They  are 
surely  mistaken;  it  cannot  be  otherwise.  Did 
Monsieur  the  Mayor  and  the  hospital  surgeon  say 
nothing? " 

I  told  the  history  of  the  letter  between  my  sobs, 
and  Aunt  Gredel,  who  until  then  knew  nothing  of 
it,  again  shrieked  with  her  hands  clinched. 


THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 


73 


"  O  the  scoundrel!  God  grant  that  he  may  cross 
my  threshold  again.  I  will  cleave  his  head  with 
my  hatchet." 

Monsieur  Goulden  was  astounded. 

"  And  you  did  not  say  that  it  was  false.  Then 
the  story  was  true?  ' 

And  as  I  bowed  my  head  without  replying  he 
clasped  his  hands,  saying: 

"  O  youth!  youth!  it  thinks  of  nothing.  "What 
folly!  what  folly!  " 

He  walked  around  the  room;  then  sat  down  to 
wipe  his  spectacles,  and  Aunt  Gredel  exclaimed : 

"  Yes,  but  they  shall  not  have  him  yet!  Their 
wickedness  shall  yet  go  for  nothing.  This  very 
evening  Joseph  shall  be  in  the  mountains  on  the 
way  to  Switzerland." 

Monsieur  Goulden  hearing  this,  looked  grave; 
he  bent  his  brows,  and  replied  in  a  few  moments: 

"  It  is  a  misfortune,  a  great  misfortune,  for 
Joseph  is  really  lame.  They  will  yet  find  it  out, 
for  he  cannot  march  two  days  without  falling  be- 
hind and  becoming  sick.  But  you  are  wrong, 
Mother  Gredel,  to  speak  as  you  do  and  give  him 
bad  advice." 

"Bad  advice!  "  she  cried.  "Then  you  are  for 
having  people  massacred  too !  " 

"No,"  he  answered;  "I  do  not  love  wars,  es- 


74  THE  STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

pecially  where  a  hundred  thousand  men  lose  their 
lives  for  the  glory  of  one.  But  wars  of  that  kind 
are  ended.  It  is  not  now  for  glory  and  to  win  new 
kingdoms  that  soldiers  are  levied,  but  to  defend  our 
country,  which  had  been  put  in  danger  by  tyranny 
and  ambition.  We  would  gladly  have  peace  now. 
Unhappily,  the  Russians  are  advancing;  the  Prus- 
sians are  joining  them:  and  our  friends,  the  Aus- 
trians,  only  await  a  good  opportunity  to  fall  upon 
our  rear.  If  we  do  not  go  to  meet  them,  they  will 
come  to  our  homes;  for  we  are  about  to  have  Eu- 
rope on  our  hands  as  we  had  in  '93.  It  is  now  a 
different  matter  from  our  wars  in  Spain,  in  Russia, 
and  in  Germany;  and  I,  old  as  I  am,  Mother 
Gredel,  if  the  danger  continues  to  increase  and  the 
veterans  of  the  republic  are  needed,  I  would  be 
ashamed  to  go  and  make  clocks  in  Switzerland  while 
others  were  pouring  out  their  blood  to  defend  my 
country.  Besides,  remember  this  well,  that  desert- 
ers are  despised  everywhere;  after  having  com- 
mitted such  an  act,  they  have  no  kindred  or  home 
anywhere.  They  have  neither  father,  mother, 
church  nor  country.  They  are  incapable  of  ful- 
filling the  first  duty  of  man — to  love  and  sustain 
their  country,  even  though  she  be  in  the  wrong." 
He  said  no  more  at  the  moment,  but  sat  gravely 
down. 


THE   STORY    OF  A   CONSCRIPT  75 

"  Let  us  eat,"  he  exclaimed,  after  some  minutes 
of  silence.  "  It  is  striking  twelve  o'clock.  Mother 
Gredel  and  Catharine,  seat  yourselves  there." 

They  sat  down,  and  we  began  dinner.  I  thought 
of  tha  words  of  Monsieur  Goulden,  which  seemed 
right  to  me.  Aunt  Gredel  compressed  her  lips,  and 
from  time  to  time  gazed  at  me  as  if  to  read  my 
thoughts.  At  length  she  said : 

"  I  despise  a  country  where  they  take  fathers  of 
families  after  carrying  off  the  sons.  If  I  were  in 
Joseph's  place,  I  would  fly  at  once." 

"Listen,  Aunt  Gredel,"  I  replied;  "you  know 
that  I  love  nothing  so  much  as  peace  and  quiet,  but 
I  would  not,  nevertheless,  run  away  like  a  coward 
to  another  country.  But,  notwithstanding,  I  will 
do  as  Catharine  says;  if  she  wishes  me  to  go  to 
Switzerland,  I  will  go." 

Then  Catharine,  lowering  her  head  to  hide  her 
tears,  said  in  a  low  voice : 

"  I  would  not  have  them  call  you  a  deserter." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  do  like  the  others,"  I  cried; 
"  and  as  those  of  Phalsbourg  and  Dagsberg  are 
going  to  the  wars,  I  will  go." 

Monsieur  Goulden  made  no  remark. 

"  Every  one  is  free  to  do  as  he  pleases,"  said  he, 
after  a  while;  "  but  I  am  glad  that  Joseph  thinks 
as  I  do." 


76  THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

Then  there  was  silence,  and  toward  two  o'clock 
Aunt  Gredel  arose  and  took  her  basket.  She 
seemed  utterly  cast  down,  and  said: 

"  Joseph,  you  will  not  listen  to  me,  but  no  mat- 
ter. With  God's  grace,  all  will  yet  be  well.  You 
will  return  if  He  wills  it,  and  Catharine  will  wait 
for  you." 

Catharine  wept  again,  and  I  more  than  she;  so 
that  Monsieur  Goulden  himself  could  not  help 
shedding  tears. 

At  length  Catharine  and  her  mother  descended 
the  stairs,  and  Aunt  Gredel  called  out  from  the  bot- 
tom: 

"  Try  to  come  and  see  us  once  or  twice  again, 
Joseph." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  I  answered,  shutting  the  door. 

I  could  no  longer  stand.  Never  had  I  been  so 
miserable,  and  even  now,  when  I  think  of  it,  my 
heart  chills. 


vn 

FROM  that  day  I  could  think  of  nothing  but  i.t y 
misfortune.  I  tried  to  work,  but  my  thoughts  were 
far  away,  and  Monsieur  Goulden  said  : 

"  Joseph,  stop  working.  Make  the  most  of  the 
little  time  you  can  remain  among  us  ;  go  to  see 
Catharine  and  Mother  Gredel.  I  still  think  they 
will  exempt  you,  but  who  can  tell  ?  They  need  men 
so  much  that  it  may  be  a  long  time  coming." 

I  went  every  morning  then  to  Quatre- Vents,  and 
passed  my  days  with  Catharine.  We  were  very  sor- 
rowful, but  very  glad  to  see  each  other.  "We  loved 
one  another  even  more  than  before,  if  that  were  pos- 
sible. Catharine  sometimes  tried  to  sing  as  in  the 
good  old  times  ;  but  suddenly  she  would  burst  into 
tears.  Then  we  wept  together,  and  Aunt  Gredel 
would  rail  at  the  wars  which  brought  misery  to 
every  one.  She  said  that  the  Council  of  Revision 
deserved  to  be  hung  ;  that  they  were  all  robbers, 
banded  together  to  poison  our  lives.  It  solaced  us  a 
little  to  hear  her  talk  thus,  and  we  thought  she  was 
right 

77 


78  THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

I  returned  to  the  city  about  eight  or  nine  o'clock 
in  the  evening,  when  they  closed  the  gates,  and  as  I 
passed,  I  saw  the  small  inns  full  of  conscripts  and  old 
returned  soldiers  drinking  together.  The  con- 
scripts always  paid  ;  the  others,  with  dirty  police 
caps  cocked  over  their  ears,  red  noses,  and  horse-hair 
stocks  in  place  of  shirt-collars,  twisted  their  mus- 
taches and  related  with  majestic  air  their  battles, 
their  marches,  and  their  duels.  One  can  imagine 
nothing  viler  than  those  holes,  full  of  smoke,  cob- 
webs hanging  on  the  black  beams,  those  old  sword- 
ers  and  young  men  drinking,  shouting,  and  beating 
the  tables  like  crazy  people  ;  and  behind,  in  the 
shadow,  old  Annette  Schnaps  or  Marie  Hering — her 
old  wig  stuck  back  on  her  head,  her  comb  with  only 
three  teeth  remaining,  crosswise,  in  it — gazing  on 
the  scene,  or  emptying  a  mug  to  the  health  of  the 
braves. 

It  was  sad  to  see  the  sons  of  peasants,  honest  and 
laborious  fellows,  leading  such  an  existence  ;  but  no 
one  thought  of  working,  and  any  one  of  them  would 
have  given  his  life  for  two  farthings.  "Worn  out 
with  shouting,  drinking,  and  internal  grief,  they 
ended  by  falling  asleep  over  the  table,  while  the 
old  fellows  emptied  their  cups,  singing  : 

"  Tia  glory  calls  us  on  I  " 


fHEY   RELATED,    WITH   MAJESTIC   AIR,    THEIR  BATTLES,    THEIR  MARCHES, 
AND  THEIR   DUELS. 


THE    STORY    OF    A    CONSCRIPT  79 

I  saw  these  tilings,  and  I  blessed  heaven  for  hav- 
ing given  me,  in  my  wretchedness,  kind  hearts  to 
keep  up  my  courage,  and  prevent  my  falling  into 
such  hands. 

This  state  of  affairs  lasted  until  the  twenty-fifth 
of  January.  For  some  days  a  great  number  of 
Italian  conscripts — Piedmontese  and  Genoese — had 
been  arriving  in  the  city  ;  some  stout  and  fat  as 
Savoyards  fed  upon  chestnuts — their  cocked  hats  on 
their  curly  heads  ;  their  Unsey-woolsey  pantaloons 
dyed  a  dark  green,  and  their  short  vests  also  of  wool, 
but  brick-red,  fastened  around  their  waists  by  a 
leather  belt.  They  wore  enormous  shoes,  and  ate 
their  cheese  seated  along  the  old  market-place.  Oth- 
ers were  dried  up,  lean,  brown,  shivering  in  their 
long  cassocks,  seeing  nothing  but  snow  upon  the 
roofs  and  gazing  with  their  large,  black,  mournful 
eyes  upon  the  women  who  passed.  They  were  ex- 
ercised every  day  in  marching,  and  were  going  to  fill 
up  the  skeleton  of  the  Sixth  regiment  of  the  line  at 
Mayence,  and  were  then  resting  for  a  while  in  the 
infantry  barracks. 

The  captain  of  the  recruits,  who  was  named 
Vidal,  lodged  over  our  room.  He  was  a  square- 
built,  solid,  very  strong-looking  man,  and  was,  too, 
very  kind  and  civil.  He  came  to  us  to  have  his 
watch  repaired,  and  when  he  learned  that  I  was  a 


So  THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

conscript  and  was  afraid  I  should  never  return,  lie 
encouraged  me,  saying  that  it  was  all  habit  ;  that  at 
the  end  of  five  or  six  months  one  fights  and  marches 
as  he  eats  his  dinner  ;  and  that  many  so  accustom 
themselves  to  shooting  at  people  that  they  consider 
themselves  unhappy  when  they  are  deprived  of  that 
amusement. 

But  his  mode  of  reasoning  was  not  to  my  taste  ; 
the  more  so  as  I  saw  five  or  six  large  grains  of  pow- 
der on  one  of  his  cheeks,  wrhich  had  entered  deeply, 
and  as  he  explained  to  me  that  they  came  from  a 
shot  which  a  Russian  fired  almost  under  his  nose, 
such  a  life  disgusted  me  more  and  more,  and  as  sev- 
eral days  had  already  passed  without  news,  I  began 
to  think  they  had  forgotten  me,  as  they  did  Jacob, 
of  Chevre  Hof,  of  whose  extraordinary  luck  every 
one  yet  talks.  Aunt  Gredel  herself  said  to  me  every 
time  I  went  there,  "  Well,  well  !  they  will  let  us 
alone  after  all  !  "  When,  on  the  morning  of  the 
twenty-fifth  of  January,  as  I  was  about  starting  for 
Quatre- Vents,  Monsieur  Goulden,  who  was  working 
at  his  bench  with  a  thoughtful  air,  turned  to  me  with 
tears  in  his  eyes  and  said  : 

"  Listen,  Joseph  !  I  wanted  to  let  you  have  one 
night  more  of  quiet  sleep  ;  but  you  must  know  now, 
my  child,  that  yesterday  evening  the  brigadier  of 
the  gendarmes  brought  me  your  marching  orders. 


THE    STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT  81 

You  go  with  the  Piedmontese  and  Genoese  and  five 
or  six  young  men  of  the  city — young  Klipfel,  young 
Loerig,  Jean  Leger,  and  Gaspard  Zebede.  You  go 
to  Mayence." 

I  felt  my  knees  give  way  as  he  spoke,  and  I  sat 
down  unable  to  speak.  Monsieur  Goulden  took  my 
marching  orders,  beautifully  written,  out  of  a 
drawer,  and  began  to  read  them  slowly.  All  that  I 
remember  is  that  Joseph  Bertha,  native  of  Dabo, 
Canton  of  Phalsbourg,  Arrondissement  of  Sarre- 
bourg,  was  incorporated  in  the  Sixth  regiment  of  the 
line,  and  that  he  was  to  join  his  corps  the  twenty- 
ninth  of  January  at  Mayence. 

This  letter  produced  as  bad  an  effect  on  me  as  if  I 
had  known  nothing  of  it  before.  It  seemed  some- 
thing new,  and  I  grew  angry. 

Monsieur  Goulden,  after  a  moment's  silence, 
added  : 

"  The  Italians  start  to-day  at  eleven." 

Then,  as  if  awakening  from  a  horrible  dream,  I 
cried  : 

"  But  shall  I  not  see  Catharine  again  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Joseph,  yes,"  said  he,  in  a  trembling 
voice.  "  I  notified  Mother  Gredel  and  Catharine, 
and  thus,  my  boy,  they  will  come,  and  you  can  em- 
brace them  before  leaving." 

I  saw  his  grief,  and  it  made  me  sadder  yet,  so  that 


82  THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

I  had  a  hard  struggle  to  keep  myself  from  bursting 
into  tears. 

He  continued  after  a  pause  : 

"  You  need  not  be  anxious  about  anything, 
Joseph.  I  have  prepared  all  beforehand  ;  and 
when  you  return,  if  it  please  God  to  keep  me  so  long 
in  this  world,  you  will  find  me  always  the  same.  I 
am  beginning  to  grow  old,  and  my  greatest  happi- 
ness would  be  to  keep  you  for  a  son,  for  I  found  you 
good-hearted  and  honest.  I  would  have  given  you 
what  I  possess,  and  we  would  have  been  happy  to- 
gether. Catharine  and  you  would  have  been  my 
children.  But  since  it  is  otherwise,  let  us  be  re- 
signed. It  is  only  for  a  little  while.  You  will  be 
sent  back,  I  am  sure.  They  will  soon  see  that  you 
cannot  make  long  marches." 

While  he  spoke,  I  sat  silently  sobbing,  my  face 
buried  in  my  hands. 

At  last  he  arose  and  took  from  a  closet  a  soldier's 
knapsack  of  cowskin,  which  he  placed  upon  the 
table.  I  looked  at  him,  thinking  of  nothing  but  the 
pain  of  parting. 

"  Here  is  your  knapsack,"  he  added  ;  "  and  I 
have  put  in  it  all  that  you  require  ;  two  linen  shirts, 
two  flannel  waistcoats,  and  all  the  rest.  You  will 
receive  at  Mayence  two  soldier's  shirts, — all  that 
you  will  need ;  but  I  have  made  for  you  some 


THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT  83 

shoes,  for  nothing  is  worse  than  those  given  the  sol- 
diers, which  are  almost  always  of  horse-hide  and 
chafe  the  feet  fearfully.  You  are  none  too  strong 
in  your  leg,  my  poor  boy.  Well,  well,  that  is  all." 

He  placed  the  knapsack  upon  the  table  and  sat 
down. 

Without,  we  heard  the  Italians  making  ready  to 
depart.  Above  us  Captain  Vidal  was  giving  his  or- 
ders. He  had  his  horse  at  the  barracks  of  the 
gendarmerie,  and  was  telling  his  orderly  to.  see  that 
he  was  well  rubbed  and  had  received  his  hay. 

All  this  bustle  and  movement  produced  a  strange 
effect  upon  me,  and  I  could  not  yet  realize  that  I 
must  quit  the  city.  As  I  was  thus  in  the  greatest 
distress,  the  door  opened  and  Catharine  entered 
weeping,  while  Mother  Gredel  cried  out  : 

"  I  told  you  you  should  have  fled  to  Switzerland  ; 
that  these  rogues  would  finish  by  carrying  you  off. 
I  told  you  so,  and  you  would  not  believe  me." 

"  Mother  Gredel,"  replied  Monsieur  Goulden, 
"  to  go  to  do  his  duty  is  not  so  great  an  evil  as  to  be 
despised  by  honest  people.  Instead  of  all  these 
cries  and  reproaches,  which  serve  no  good  purpose, 
you  would  do  better  to  comfort  and  encourage  Jo- 
seph." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  she  ;  "  I  do  not  reproach  hirn^  al- 
though this  is  terrible." 


84  THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

Catharine  did  not  leave  me  ;  she  sat  by  me  and 
we  embraced  each  other,  and  she  said,  pressing  my 
arm  : 

"You  will  return?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  I,  in  a  low  voice.  "  And  you 
— you  will  always  think  of  me  ;  you  will  not  love 
another?  " 

She  answered,  sobbing  : 

"  No,  no  !     I  will  never  love  any  but  you." 

This  lasted  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  when  the  door 
opened  and  Captain  Vidal  entered,  his  cloak  rolled 
like  a  hunting-horn  over  his  shoulder. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  well  ;  how  goes  our  young 
man?" 

"  Here  he  is,"  answered  Monsieur  Goulden. 

"  Ah  !  "  remarked  the  captain  ;  "  you  are  mak- 
ing yourself  miserable.  It  is  natural.  I  remember 
when  I  departed  for  the  army.  We  have  all  a 
home." 

Then,  raising  his  voice,  he  said  : 

"  Come,  come,  young  man,  courage  !  We  are  no 
longer  children." 

He  looked  at  Catharine. 

"  I  see  all,"  said  'he  to  Monsieur  Goulden.  "  I 
can  understand  why  he  does  not  want  to  go." 

The  drums  beat  in  the  street  and  he  added  : 

"  We  have  yet  twenty  minutes  before  starting," 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT  85 

and,  throwing  a  glance  at  me,  "  Do  not  fail  to  be  at 
the  first  call,  young  man,"  said  he,  pressing  Mon- 
sieur Goulden's  hand. 

He  went  out,  and  we  heard  his  horse  pawing  at 
the  door. 

The  morning  was  overcast,  and  grief  over- 
whelmed me.  I  could  not  leave  Catharine. 

Suddenly  the  roll  beat.  The  drums  were  all 
collected  in  the  square.  Monsieur  Goulden, 
taking  the  knapsack  by  its  straps,  said  in  a  grave 
voice : 

"  Joseph,  now  the  last  embrace:  it  is  time  to  go." 

I  stood  up,  pale  as  ashes.  He  fastened  the  knap- 
sack to  my  shoulders.  Catharine  sat  sobbing,  her 
face  covered  with  her  apron.  Aunt  Gredel  looked 
on  with  lips  compressed. 

The  roll  continued  for  a  time,  then  suddenly 
ceased. 

"  The  call  is  about  commencing,"  said  Monsieur 
Goulden,  embracing  me.  Then  the  fountains  of 
his  heart  burst  forth  ;  tears  sprang  to  his  eyes  ;  and 
calling  me  his  child,  his  son,  he  whispered,  "  Cour- 
age  !  » 

Aunt  Gredel  seated  herself  again,  and  as  I  bent 
toward  her,  taking  my  head  between  her  hands,  she 
sobbed  : 

"  I  always  loved  you,  Joseph  ;    ever  since  you 


86  THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

were  a  baby.     You  never  gave  me  cause  of  grief — 
and  now  you  must  go.     O  God  !  O  God  !  " 

I  wept  no  longer. 

When  Aunt  Gredel  released  me,  I  looked  a  mo- 
ment at  Catharine,  who  stood  motionless.  I  rushed 
to  her  and  threw  myself  on  her  neck.  She  still  kept 
her  seat.  Then  I  turned  quickly  to  go,  when  she 
cried,  in  heart-breaking  tones  : 

"  O  Joseph  !  Joseph  !  " 

I  looked  back.  We  threw  ourselves  into  each 
other's  arms,  and  for  some  minutes  remained  so,  sob- 
bing. Her  strength  seemed  to  leave  her,  and  I 
placed  her  in  the  arm-chair,  and  rushed  out  of  the 
house. 

I  was  already  on  the  square,  in  the  midst  of 
the  Italians  and  of  a  crowd  of  people  crying  for 
their  sons  or  brothers.  I  saw  nothing;  I  heard 
nothing. 

When  the  roll  of  the  drums  began  again,  I  looked 
around,  and  saw  that  I  was  between  Klipfel  and 
Furst,  all  three  with  our  knapsacks  on  our  backs. 
Their  parents  stood  before  us,  weeping  as  if  at  their 
funeral.  To  the  right,  near  the  town-hall,  Captain 
Yidal,  on  his  little  gray  horse,  was  conversing  with 
two  infantry  officers.  The  sergeants  called  the  roll, 
and  we  answered.  They  called  Zebede,  Furst,  Klip- 
fel, Bertha  ;  we  answered  like  the  others.  Then 


"LOOK  YONDER." 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT  87 

the  captain  gave  the  word,  "  March  !  "  and  we 
went,  two  abreast,  toward  the  French  gate. 

At  the  corner  of  Spitz's  bakery,  an  old  woman 
cried,  in  a  choking  voice,  from  a  window  : 

"  Kasper  !  Kasper  !  " 

It  was  Zebede's  grandmother.  His  lips  trem- 
bled. He  waved  his  hand  without  replying,  and 
passed  on  with  downcast  face. 

I  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  passing  my  home. 
As  we  neared  it,  my  knees  trembled,  and  I  heard 
some  one  call  at  the  window  ;  but  I  turned  my  head 
toward  the  "  Red  Ox,"  and  the  rattle  of  the  drums 
drowned  the  voices. 

The  children  ran  after  us,  shouting  : 

"There  goes  Joseph  !  there  goes  Klipfel  !  " 

Under  the  French  gate,  the  men  on  guard,  drawn 
up  in  line  on  each  side,  gazed  on  us  as  we  passed  at 
shoulder  arms.  We  passed  the  outposts,  and  the 
drum  ceased  playing  as  we  turned  to  the  right. 
Nothing  was  heard  but  the  plash  of  footsteps  in  the 
mud,  for  the  snow  was  melting. 

We  had  passed  the  farm-house  of  Gerberhoff,  and 
were  going  to  the  great  bridge,  when  I  heard  some 
one  call  me.  It  was  the  captain,  who  cried  from  his 
horse  : 

"  Very  well  done,  young  man  ;  I  am  satisfied 
with  you." 


88  THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

Hearing  this,  I  could  not  help  again  bursting  into 
tears,  and  the  big  Furst,  too,  wept,  as  we  marched 
along  ;  the  others,  pale  as  marble,  said  nothing.  At 
the  bridge,  Zebede  took  out  his  pipe  to  smoke.  In 
front  of  us,  the  Italians  talked  and  laughed  among 
themselves  ;  their  three  weeks  of  service  had  accus- 
tomed them  to  this  life. 

Once  on  the  way  to  Metting,  more  than  a  league 
from  the  city,  as  we  began  to  descend,  Klipfel 
touched  me  on  the  shoulder,  and  whispered  : 

"  Look  yonder." 

I  looked,  and  saw  Phalsbourg  far  beneath  us  ;  the 
barracks,  the  magazines,  the  steeple  whence  I  had 
seen  Catharine's  home  six  weeks  before,  with  old 
Brainstein — all  were  in  the  gray  distance,  with  the 
woods  all  around.  I  would  have  stopped  a  few  mo- 
ments, but  the  squad  marched  on,  and  I  had  to  keep 
pace  with  them.  "VVe  entered  Metting. 


vin 

THAT  same  day  we  went  as  far  as  Bitche  ;  the 
next,  to  Hornbach  j  then  to  Kaiserslautern.  It  be- 
gan to  snow  again. 

How  often  during  that  long  march  did  I  sigh  for 
the  thick  cloak  of  Monsieur  Goulden,  and  his  doub- 
le-soled shoes. 

We  passed  through  innumerable  villages,  some- 
times on  the  mountains,  sometimes  in  the  plains. 
As  we  entered  each  little  town,  the  drums  began  to 
beat,  and  we  inarched  with  heads  erect,  marking 
the  step,  trying  to  assume  the  mien  of  old  soldiers. 
The  people  looked  out  of  their  little  windows,  or 
came  to  the  doors,  saying,  "  There  go  the  con- 
scripts !  " 

At  night  we  halted,  glad  to  rest  our  weary  feet 
— I,  especially.  I  cannot  say  that  my  leg  hurt  me, 
but  my  feet  !  I  had  never  undergone  such  fatigue. 
With  our  billet  for  lodging  we  had  the  right  to  a  cor- 
ner of  the  fire,  but  our  hosts  also  gave  us  a  place  at 
the  table.  We  had  nearly  always  buttermilk  and 
potatoes,  and  often  fresh  cheese  or  a  dish  of  sauer- 

89 


90  THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

kraut.  The  children  came  to  look  at  us,  and  the  old 
women  asked  us  from  what  place  we  came,  and  what 
our  business  was  before  we  left  home.  The  young 
girls  looked  sorrowfully  at  us,  thinking  of  their 
sweethearts,  who  had  gone  five,  six,  or  seven  months 
before.  Then  they  would  take  us  to  their  son's  bed. 
"With  what  pleasure  I  stretched  out  my  tired  limbs  ! 
How  I  wished  to  sleep  all  our  twelve  hours'  halt  ! 
But  early  in  the  morning,  at  daybreak,  the  rattling 
of  the  drums  awoke  me.  I  gazed  at  the  brown  raft- 
ers of  the  ceiling,  the  window-panes  covered  with 
frost,  and  asked  myself  where  I  was.  Then  my 
heart  would  grow  cold,  as  I  thought  that  I  was  at 
Bitche — at  Kaiserslautern — that  I  was  a  conscript  ; 
and  I  had  to  dress  fast  as  I  could,  catch  up  my  knap- 
sack, and  answer  the  roll-call. 

"  A  good  journey  to  you  !  "  said  the  hostess, 
awakened  so  early  in  the  morning. 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  the  conscript. 

And  we  marched  on. 

Yes  !  a  good  journey  to  you  !  They  will  not  see 
you  again,  poor  wretch  !  How  many  others  have 
followed  the  same  road  ! 

I  will  never  forget  how  at  Kaiserslautern,  the  sec- 
ond day  of  our  march,  having  unstrapped  my  knap- 
sack to  take  out  a  white  shirt,  I  discovered,  beneath, 
a  little  pocket,  and  opening  it  I  found  fifty-four 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT  91 

francs  in  six-livre  pieces.  On  the  paper  wrapped 
around  them  were  these  words,  written  by  Monsieur 
Goulden  : 

"  "While  you  are  at  the  wars,  be  always  good  and 
honest.  Think  of  your  friends  and  of  those  for 
whom  you  would  be  willing  to  sacrifice  your  life, 
and  treat  the  enemy  with  humanity  that  they  may 
so  treat  our  soldiers.  May  Heaven  guide  you,  and 
protect  you  in  your  dangers  !  You  will  find  some 
money  enclosed  ;  for  it  is  a  good  thing,  when  far 
from  home  and  all  who  love  you,  to  have  a  little  of 
it.  Write  to  us  as  often  as  you  can.  I  embrace 
you,  my  child,  and  press  you  to  my  heart." 

As  I  read  this,  the  tears  forced  themselves  to  my 
eyes,  and  I  thought,  "  Thou  are  not  wholly  aban- 
doned, Joseph  :  fond  hearts  are  yearning  toward 
you.  Never  forget  their  kind  counsels." 

At  last,  on  the  fifth  day,  about  ten  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  we  entered  Mayence.  As  long  as  I  live  I 
will  remember  it.  It  was  terribly  cold.  We  had 
begun  our  march  at  early  dawn,  and  long  before 
reaching  the  city,  had  passed  through  villages  filled 
with  soldiers — cavalry,  infantry,  dragoons  in  their 
short  jackets — some  digging  holes  in  the  ice  to  get 
water  for  their  horses,  others  dragging  bundles  of 
forage  to  the  doors  of  the  stables  ;  powder-wagons, 
carts  full  of  cannon-balls,  all  white  with  frost,  stood 


92  THE   STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT 

on  every  side  ;  couriers,  detachments  of  artillery, 
pontoon-trains,  were  coming  and  going  over  the 
white  ground  ;  and  no  more  attention  was  paid  to 
us  than  if  we  were  not  in  existence. 

Captain  Vidal,  to  warm  himself,  had  dismounted 
and  marched  with  us  on  foot.  The  officers  and 
sergeants  hastened  us  on.  Five  or  six  Italians  had 
fallen  behind  and  remained  in  the  villages,  no 
longer  able  to  advance.  My  feet  were  sore  and 
burning,  and  at  the  last  halt  I  could  scarcely  rise  to 
resume  the  march.  The  others  from  Phalsbourg, 
however,  kept  bravely  on. 

Night  had  fallen  ;  the  sky  sparkled  with  stars. 
Every  one  gazed  forward,  and  said  to  his  comrade, 
"  We  are  nearing  it  !  we  are  nearing  it  !  "  for  along 
the  horizon  a  dark  line  of  seeming  cloud,  glittering 
here  and  there  with  flashing  points,  told  that  a  great 
city  lay  before  us. 

At  last  we  entered  the  advanced  works,  and 
passed  through  the  zigzag  earthen  bastions.  Then 
we  dressed  our  ranks  and  marked  the  step,  as  we  usu- 
ally did  when  approaching  a  town.  At  the  corner 
of  a  sort  of  demilune  we  saw  the  frozen  fosse  of  the 
city,  and  the  brick  ramparts  towering  above,  and  op- 
posite us  an  old,  dark  gate,  with  the  drawbridge 
raised.  Above  stood  a  sentinel,  who,  with  his  mus- 
ket raised,  cried  out  : 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT  93 

"Who  goes  there?" 

The  captain,  going  forward  alone,  replied  : 

"  France  !  " 

"What  regiment?" 

"  Recruits  for  the  Sixth  of  the  Line." 

A  silence  ensued.  Then  the  drawbridge  was 
lowered,  and  the  guard  turned  out  and  examined  us, 
one  of  them  carrying  a  great  torch.  Captain  Yidal, 
a  few  paces  in  advance  of  us,  spoke  to  the  command- 
ant of  the  post,  who  called  out  at  length  : 

"  Pass  when  you  please." 

Our  drums  began  to  beat,  but  the  captain  ordered 
them  to  cease,  and  we  crossed  a  long  bridge  and 
passed  through  a  second  gate  like  the  first.  Then 
we  were  in  the  streets  of  the  city,  which  were  paved 
with  smooth  round  stones.  Every  one  tried  his  best 
to  march  steadily  ;  for,  although  it  was  night,  all 
the  inns  and  shops  along  the  way  were  opened  and 
their  large  windows  were  shining,  and  hundreds  of 
people  were  passing  to  and  fro  as  if  it  were  broad 
day. 

We  turned  five  or  six  corners  and  soon  arrived  in 
a  little  open  place  before  a  high  barrack,  where  we 
were  ordered  to  halt. 

There  was  a  shed  at  the  corner  of  the  barrack,  and 
in  it  a  cantiniere  seated  behind  a  small  table,  under 
a  great  tri-colored  umbrella  from  which  hung  two 
lanterns. 


94  THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

Several  officers  came  up  as  soon  as  we  halted  ; 
they  were  the  Commandant  Gemeau  and  some 
others  whom  I  have  since  known.  They  pressed  our 
captain's  hand  laughing,  then  looked  at  us  and 
ordered  the  roll  to  be  called.  After  that,  we  each 
received  a  ration  of  bread  and  a  billet  for  lodging/ 
We  were  told  that  roll-call  would  take  place  the  next 
morning  at  eight  o'clock  for  the  distribution  of 
arms,  and  then  we  were  ordered  to  break  ranks, 
while  the  officers  turned  up  a  street  to  the  left  and 
went  into  a  great  coffee-house,  the  entrance  of 
which  was  approached  by  a  flight  of  fifteen  steps. 

But  we,  with  our  billets  for  lodging — what  were 
we  to  do  with  them  in  the  middle  of  such  a  city,  and, 
above  all,  the  Italians,  who  did  not  know  a  word 
either  of  German  or  French? 

My  first  idea  was  to  see  the  cantiniere  under  her 
umbrella.  She  was  an  old  Alsatian,  round  and 
chubby,  and,  when  I  asked  for  the  Capougner- 
Strasse,  she  replied  : 

"  "What  will  you  pay  for?  " 

I  was  obliged  to  take  a  glass  of  brandy  with  her  ; 
then  she  said  : 

"  Look  just  opposite  there  ;  if  you  turn  the  first 
corner  to  the  right,  you  will  find  the  Capougner' 
Strasse.  Good-evening,  conscript." 

She  laughed. 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT  95 

Big  Furst  and  Zebede  were  also  billeted  in  the 
Capoitgner-Strasse,  and  we  set  out,  glad  enough  to 
be  able  to  limp  together  through  the  strange  city. 

Furst  found  his  house  first,  but  it  was  shut  ;  and 
while  he  was  knocking  at  the  door,  I  found  mine, 
which  had  a  light  in  two  windows.  I  pushed  at  the 
door,  it  opened,  and  I  entered  a  dark  alley,  whence 
came  a  smell  of  fresh  bread,  which  was  very  wel- 
come. Zebede  had  to  go  farther  on. 

I  called  out  in  the  alley  : 

"  Is  any  one  here?  " 

Just  then  an  old  woman  appeared  with  a  candle 
at  the  top  of  a  wooden  staircase. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  she  asked. 

I  told  her  that  I  was  billeted  at  her  house.  She 
came  downstairs,  and,  looking  at  my  billet,  told  me 
in  German  to  follow  her. 

I  ascended  the  stairs.  Passing  an  open  door,  I 
saw  two  men  naked  to  the  waist  at  work  before  an 
oven.  I  was,  then,  at  a  baker's,  and  her  having  so 
much  work  accounted  for  the  old  woman  being  up 
so  late.  She  wore  a  cap  with  black  ribbons,  a  large 
blue  apron,  and  her  arms  were  bare  to  the  elbows  ; 
she,  too,  had  been  working,  and  seemed  very  sorrow- 
ful. She  led  me  into  a  good-sized  room  with  a 
porcelain  stove  and  a  bed  at  the  farther  end. 

"  You  come  late,"  she  said. 


96  THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

"  We  were  marcliing  all  day,"  I  replied,  "  and  I 
am  fainting  with  hunger  and  weariness." 

She  looked  at  me  and  I  heard  her  say  : 

"  Poor  child  !  poor  child  !  Well,  take  off  your 
shoes  and  put  on  these  sabots." 

Then  she  made  me  sit  before  the  stove,  and 
asked : 

"  Are  your  feet  sore?  " 

"  Yes,  they  have  been  so  for  three  days." 

She  put  the  candle  upon  the  table  and  went  out. 
I  took  off  my  coat  and  shoes.  My  feet  were  blis- 
tered and  bleeding,  and  pained  me  horribly,  and  T 
felt  for  the  moment  as  if  it  would  almost  be  better  to 
die  at  once  than  continue  in  such  suffering. 

This  thought  had  more  than  once  arisen  to  my 
mind  in  the  march,  but  now,  before  that  good  fire,  I 
felt  so  worn,  so  miserable,  that  I  would  gladly  have 
lain  myself  down  to  sleep  forever,  notwithstanding 
Catharine,  Aunt  Gredel,  and  all  who  loved  me. 
Truly,  I  needed  God's  assistance. 

While  these  thoughts  were  running  through  my 
head,  the  door  opened,  and  a  tall,  stout  man,  gray- 
haired,  but  yet  strong  and  healthy,  entered.  He 
was  one  of  those  I  had  seen  at  work  below,  and  held 
in  his  hands  a  bottle  of  wine  and  two  glasses. 

"  Good-evening  !  "  said  he,  gravely  and  kindly. 

I  looked  up.      The  old  woman  was  behind  him. 


THE    STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT  97 

She  was  carrying  a  little  wooden  tub,  which  she 
placed  on  the  floor  near  my  chair. 

"  Take  a  foot-bath,"  said  she  ;  "  it  will  do  you 
good." 

This  kindness  on  the  part  of  a  stranger  affected 
me  more  than  I  cared  to  show,  and  I  thought  : 
"  There  are  kind  people  in  the  world."  I  took  off 
my  stockings  ;  my  feet  were  bleeding,  and  the  good 
old  dame  repeated,  as  she  gazed  at  them  : 

"  Poor  child  !    poor  child  !  " 

The  man  asked  me  whence  I  came.  I  told  him 
from  Phalsbourg  in  Lorraine.  Then  he  told  his 
wife  to  bring  some  bread,  adding  that,  after  we  had 
taken  a  glass  of  wine  together,  he  would  leave  me 
to  the  repose  I  needed  so  much. 

He  pushed  the  table  before  me,  as  I  sat  with  my 
feet  in  the  bath,  and  we  each  drained  a  glass  of  good 
white  wine.  The  old  woman  returned  with  some 
hot  bread,  over  which  she  had  spread  fresh,  half- 
melted  butter.  Then  I  knew  how  hungry  I  was. 
I  was  almost  ill.  The  good  people  saw  my  eager- 
ness for  food  ;  for  the  woman  said  : 

"  Before  eating,  my  child,  you  must  take  your 
feet  out  of  the  bath." 

She  knelt  down  and  dried  my  feet  with  her 
apron  before  I  knew  what  she  was  about  to  do.  I 
cried : 

7 


98  THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

"  Good  Heavens  !  madame  ;  you  treat  me  as  if 
I  were  your  son." 

She  replied,  after  a  moment's  mournful  silence  : 

"  We  have  a  son  in  the  army." 

Her  voice  trembled  as  she  spoke,  and  my  heart 
bled  within  me.  I  thought  of  Catharine  and  Aunt 
Gredel,  and  could  not  speak  again.  I  ate  and  drank 
with  a  pleasure  I  never  before  felt  in  doing  so.  The 
two  old  people  sat  gazing  kindly  on  me,  and,  when  I 
had  finished,  the  man  said  : 

"  Yes,  we  have  a  son  in  the  army  ;  he  went  to 
Russia  last  year,  and  we  have  not  since  heard  from 
him.  These  wars  are  terrible  !  " 

He  spoke  dreamily,  as  if  to  himself,  all  the  while 
walking  up  and  down  the  room,  his  hands  crossed 
behind  his  back.  My  eyes  began  to  close  when  he 
said  suddenly  : 

"  Come,  wife.     Good-night,  conscript." 

They  went  out  together,  she  carrying  the  tub. 

"  God  reward  you,"  I  cried,  "  and  bring  your 
son  safe  home  !  " 

In  a  minute  I  was  undressed,  and,  sinking  on  the 
bed,  I  was  almost  immediately  buried  in  a  deep 
sleep. 


IX 

THE  next  morning  I  awoke  at  about  seven  o'clock. 
A  trumpet  was  sounding  the  recall  at  the  corner  of 
the  street  ;  horses,  wagons,  and  men  and  women  on 
foot  were  hurrying  past  the  house.  My  feet  were 
yet  somewhat  sore,  but  nothing  to  what  they  had 
been  ;  and  when  T  had  dressed,  I  felt  like  a  new 
man,  and  thought  to  myself  : 

"  Joseph,  if  this  continues,  you  will  soon  be  a  sol- 
dier. It  is  only  the  first  step  that  costs." 

I  dressed  in  this  cheerful  mood.  The  baker's 
wife  had  put  my  shoes  to  dry  before  the  fire,  after 
filling  them  with  hot  ashes  to  keep  them  from  grow- 
ing hard.  They  were  well  greased  and  shining. 

Then  I  buckled  on  my  knapsack,  and  hurried  out, 
without  having  time  to  thank  those  good  people — a 
duty  I  intended  to  fulfil  after  roll-call.  At  the  end 
of  the  street — on  the  square — many  of  our  Italians 
were  already  waiting,  shivering  around  the  foun- 
tain. Furst,  Klipfel,  and  Zebede  arrived  a  moment 
after. 

Cannon  and  their  caissons  covered  one  entire  side 

99 


of  the  square.  Horses  were  being  brought  to  water, 
led  by  hussars  and  dragoons.  Opposite  us  were 
cavalry  barracks,  high  as  the  church  at  Phalsbourg, 
while  around  the  other  three  sides  rose  old  houses 
with  sculptured  gables,  like  those  at  Saverne,  but 
much  larger.  I  had  never  seen  anything  like  all 
this,  and  while  I  stood  gazing  around,  the  drums 
began  to  beat,  and  each  man  took  his  place  in  the 
ranks,  and  we  were  informed,  first  in  Italian  and 
then  in  French,  that  we  were  about  to  receive  our 
arms,  and  each  one  was  ordered  to  stand  forth  as  his 
name  was  called. 

The  wagons  containing  the  arms  now  came  up, 
and  the  call  began.  Each  received  a  cartouche-box, 
a  sabre,  a  bayonet,  and  a  musket.  We  put  them  on 
as  well  as  we  could,  over  our  blouses,  coats  or  great- 
coats, and  we  looked,  with  our  hats,  our  caps,  and 
our  arms,  like  a  veritable  band  of  banditti.  My 
musket  was  so  long  and  heavy  that  I  could  scarcely 
carry  it  ;  and  the  Sergeant  Pinto  showed  me  how  to 
buckle  on  the  cartouche-box.  He  was  a  fine  fellow, 
Pinto. 

So  many  belts  crossing  my  chest  made  me  feel  as 
if  I  could  scarcely  breathe,  and  I  saw  at  once  that 
my  miseries  had  not  yet  ended. 

After  the  arms,  an  ammunition-wagon  advanced, 
and  they  distributed  fifty  rounds  of  cartridges  to 


THE    STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT  101 

each  man.  This  was  no  pleasant  augury.  Then, 
instead  of  ordering  us  to  break  ranks  and  return  to 
our  lodgings,  Captain  Vidal  drew  his  sabre  and 
shouted  : 

"  By  file  right — march  !  " 

The  drums  began  to  beat.  I  was  grieved  at  not 
being  able  to  thank  my  hosts  for  their  kindness,  and 
thought  that  they  would  consider  me  ungrateful. 
But  that  did  not  prevent  my  following  the  line  of 
march. 

We  passed  through  a  long  winding  street,  and 
soon  found  ourselves  without  the  glacis,  and  near 
the  frozen  Rhine.  Across  the  river  high  hills  ap- 
peared, and  on  the  hills,  old,  gray,  ruined  castles, 
like  those  of  Haut-Bas  and  Geroldseck  in  the  Vos- 
ges. 

The  battalion  descended  to  the  river-bank,  and 
crossed  upon  the  ice.  The  scene  was  magnificent — 
dazzling.  We  were  not  alone  on  the  ice  ;  five  or 
six  hundred  paces  before  us  there  was  a  train  of  pow- 
der wagons  guarded  by  artillerymen  on  the  way  to 
Frankfort.  Crossing  the  river  we  continued  our 
march  for  five  hours  through  the  mountains.  Some- 
times we  discovered  villages  in  the  defiles  ;  and 
Zebede,  who  was  next  to  me,  said  : 

"  As  we  had  to  leave  home,  I  would  rather  go  as 
a  soldier  than  otherwise.  At  least  we  shall  see 


102          THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

something  new  every  day,  and,  if  we  are  lucky 
enough  ever  to  return,  how  much  we  will  have  to 
talk  of  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I  ;  "  but  I  would  like  better  to  have 
less  to  talk  about,  and  to  live  quietly,  toiling  on  my 
own  account  and  not  on  account  of  others,  who  re- 
main safe  at  home  while  we  climb  about  here  on  the 
ice." 

"  You  do  not  care  for  glory,"  said  he  ;  "  and  yet 
glory  is  something." 
And  I  answered  him  : 

"  Glory  is  not  for  such  as  we,  Zebede  ;  it  is  for 
others  who  live  well,  eat  well,  and  sleep  well.  They 
have  dancings  and  rejoicings,  as  we  see  by  the  ga- 
zettes, and  glory  too  in  the  bargain,  when  we  have 
won  it  by  dint  of  sweat,  fasting  and  broken  bones. 
But  poor  wretches  like  us,  forced  away  from  home, 
when  at  last  they  return,  after  losing  their  habits  of 
labor  and  industry,  and,  mayhap  a  limb,  get  but  lit- 
tle of  your  glory.  Many  a  one,  among  their  old 
friends — no  better  men  than  they — who  were  not, 
perhaps  so  good  workmen,  have  made  money  during 
the  conscript's  seven  years  of  war,  have  opened  a 
shop,  married  their  sweethearts,  had  pretty  children, 
are  men  of  position — city  councillors — notables. 
And  when  the  others,  who  have  returned  from  seek- 
ing glory  by  killing  their  fellow-men,  pass  by  with 


THE   STORY    OF   A  CONSCRIPT          103 

their  chevrons  on  their  arras,  those  old  friends  turn 
a  cold  shoulder  upon  them,  and  if  the  soldier  has  a 
red  nose  through  drinking  brandy  which  was  neces- 
sary to  keep  his  blood  warm  in  the  rain,  the  snow, 
the  forced  march,  while  they  were  drinking  good 
wine,  they  say — '  There  goes  a  drunkard  !  '  and  the 
poor  conscript,  who  only  asked  to  be  let  stay  at  home 
and  work,  becomes  a  sort  of  beggar.  This  is  what 
I  think  about  the  matter,  Zebede  ;  I  cannot  see  the 
justice  of  all  this,  and  I  would  rather  have  these 
friends  of  glory  go  fight  themselves,  and  leave  us  to 
remain  in  peace  at  home." 

"  Well,"  he  replied,  "  I  think  much  as  you  do, 
but,  as  we  are  forced  to  fight,  it  is  as  well  to  say  that 
we  are  fighting  for  glory.  If  we  go  about  looking 
miserable,  people  will  laugh  at  us." 

Conversing  thus,  we  reached  a  large  river,  which, 
the  sergeant  told  us,  was  the  Main,  and  near  it,  upon 
our  road,  was  a  little  village.  We  did  not  know  the 
name  of  the  village,  but  there  we  halted. 

We  entered  the  houses,  and  those  who  could 
bought  some  brandy,  wine,  and  bread.  Those  who 
had  no  money  crunched  their  ration  of  biscuits,  and 
gazed  wistfully  at  their  more  fortunate  comrades. 

About  five  in  the  evening  we  arrived  at  Frank- 
fort, which  is  a  city  yet  older  than  Mayence,  and 
full  of  Jews.  They  took  us  to  a  place  called  Saxen- 


ro4         THE   STORY    OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

hausen,  where  the  Tenth  Hussars  and  the  Baden 
Chasseurs  were  in  barracks, — old  buildings  which 
were  formerly  a  hospital,  as  I  was  told  and  believe, 
for  within  there  was  a  large  yard,  with  arches  under 
the  walls  ;  beneath  these  arches  the  horses  were 
stabled,  and  in  the  rooms  above,  the  men. 

We  arrived  at  this  place  after  passing  through 
innumerable  little  streets,  so  narrow  that  we  could 
scarcely  see  the  stars  between  the  chimneys.  Cap- 
tain Florentin,  and  the  two  lieutenants,  Clavel  and 
Bretonville,  were  awaiting  us.  After  roll-call  our 
sergeants  led  us  by  detachments  to  the  rooms  above 
the  Chasseurs.  They  were  great  halls  with  little 
windows,  and  between  the  windows  were  the  beds. 

Sergeant  Pinto  hung  his  lantern  to  the  pillar  in 
the  middle  ;  eacli  man  placed  his  piece  in  the  rack, 
and  then  took  off  his  knapsack,  his  blouse  and  his 
shoes,  without  speaking.  Zebede  was  my  bed-fel- 
low. God  knows  we  were  sleepy  enough.  Twenty 
minutes  after,  we  were  buried  in  slumber. 


AT  Frankfort  I  learned  to  understand  military 
life.  Up  to  that  time  I  had  been  but  a  simple 
conscript,  then  I  became  a  soldier.  I  do  not  speak 
merely  of  drill, — the  way  of  turning  the  head  right 
or  left,  measuring  the  steps,  lifting  the  hand  to  the 
height  of  the  first  or  second  band  to  load,  aiming, 
recovering  arms  at  the  word  of  command — that  is 
only  an  affair  of  a  month  or  two,  if  a  man  really  de- 
sires to  learn;  but  I  speak  of  discipline — of  re- 
membering that  the  corporal  is  always  in  the  right 
when  he  speaks  to  a  private  soldier,  the  sergeant 
when  he  speaks  to  the  corporal,  the  sergeant-major 
when  speaking  to  the  sergeant,  the  second  lieuten- 
ant when  he  orders  the  sergeant-major,  and  so  on  to 
the  Marshal  of  France — even  if  the  superior  asserts 
that  two  and  two  make  five,  or  that  the  moon  shines 
at  midday. 

This  is  very  difficult  to  learn;  but  there  is  one 

thing  that  assists  you  immensely,  and  that  is  a  sort 

of  placard  hung  up  in  every  room  in  the  barracks, 

and  which  is  from  time  to  time  read  to  you.    This 

105 


106          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

placard  presupposes  everything  that  a  soldier  might 
wish  to  do,  as,  for  instance,  to  return  home,  to  re- 
fuse to  serve,  to  resist  his  officer,  and  always  ends 
by  speaking  of  death,  or  at  least  five  years  with  a 
ball  and  chain. 

The  day  after  our  arrival  at  Frankfort  I  wrote 
to  Monsieur  Goulden,  to  Catharine,  and  to  Aunt 
Gredel.  You  may  imagine  how  sadly.  It  seemed 
to  me,  in  addressing  them,  that  I  was  yet  at  home. 
I  told  them  of  the  hardships  I  had  undergone,  of 
the  good  luck  that  had  happened  to  me  at  Mayence, 
and  the  courage  it  required  not  to  drop  behind  in 
the  march.  I  told  them  that  I  was  in  good  health, 
for  which  I  thanked  God,  and  that  I  was  even 
stronger  than  before  I  left  home,  and  sent  them  a 
thousand  remembrances.  Our  Phalsbourg  con- 
scripts, who  saw  me  writing,  made  me  add  a  few 
words  for  each  of  their  families.  I  wrote  also  to 
Mayence,  to  the  good  couple  of  the  Capougner- 
Strasse,  who  had  been  so  kind  to  me,  telling  them 
how  I  was  forced  to  march  without  being  able  to 
thank  them,  and  asking  their  forgiveness  for  so 
doing. 

That  day,  in  the  afternoon,  we  received  our  uni- 
forms. Dozens  of  Jews  made  their  appearance  and 
bought  our  old  clothes.  I  kept  only  my  shoes  and 
stockings.  The  Italians  had  great  difficulty  in  mak- 


THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT          107 

ing  these  respectable  merchants  comprehend  their 
wishes,  but  the  Genoese  were  as  cunning  as  the 
Jews,  and  their  bargainings  lasted  until  night. 
Our  corporals  received  more  than  one  glass  of  wine ; 
it  was  policy  to  make  friends  of  them,  for  morning 
and  evening  they  taught  us  the  drill  in  the  snowr- 
covered  yard.  The  cantiniere  Christine  was  always 
at  her  post  with  a  warming-pan  under  her  feet. 
She  took  young  men  of  good  family  into  special 
favor,  and  the  young  men  of  good  family  were  all 
those  who  spent  their  money  freely.  Poor  fools! 
How  many  of  them  parted  with  their  last  sou  in 
return  for  her  miserable  flattery!  When  that  was 
gone  they  were  mere  beggars  ;  but  vanity  rules  all, 
from  the  conscripts  to  the  generals. 

All  this  time  recruits  were  constantly  arriving 
from  France,  and  ambulances  full  of  wounded 
from  Poland.  What  a  sight  was  that  before  the 
hospital  Saint  Esprit  on  the  other  side  of  the  river ! 
It  was  a  procession  without  an  end.  All  these  poor 
wretches  were  frost-bitten;  some  had  their  noses, 
some  their  ears  frozen,  others  an  arm,  others  a  leg ! 
They  were  laid  in  the  snow  to  prevent  them  from 
dropping  to  pieces.  Others  got  out  of  the  carts 
clinging  and  holding  on,  and  looked  at  you  like 
wild  beasts,  their  eyes  sunk  in  their  heads,  their 
hair  bristling  up:  the  gypsies  who  sleep  in  nooks  in 


io8          THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

the  woods  would  have  had  pity  on  them;  and  yet 
these  were  the  best  off,  because  they  escaped  from 
the  carnage,  while  thousands  of  their  comrades  had 
perished  in  the  snow,  or  on  the  battle-field.  Klip- 
fel,  Zebede,  Furst,  and  I  often  went  to  see  these 
poor  wretches,  and  never  did  we  see  men  so  misera- 
bly clad.  Some  wore  jackets  which  once  belonged 
to  Cossacks,  crushed  shakos,  women's  dresses,  and 
many  had  only  handkerchiefs  wound  round  their 
feet  in  lieu  of  shoes  and  stockings.  They  gave  us  a 
history  of  the  retreat  from  Moscow,  and  then  we 
knew  that  the  twenty-ninth  bulletin  told  only  truth. 

These  stories  enraged  our  men  against  the  Rus- 
sians. Many  said,  "  If  the  war  would  only  begin 
again,  they  would  have  a  hard  job  of  it  then:  it  is 
not  over!  it  is  not  over!  "  I  was  at  times  almost 
overcome  with  wrath  after  hearing  some  tale  of  hor- 
ror; and  sometimes  I  thought  to  myself,  "  Joseph, 
are  you  not  losing  your  wits?  These  Russians  are 
defending  their  families,  their  homes,  all  that  man 
holds  most  dear.  We  hate  them  for  defending 
themselves;  we  would  have  despised  them  had  they 
not  done  so." 

But  about  this  time  an  extraordinary  event  oc- 
curred. 

You  must  know  that  my  comrade,  Zebede,  was 
the  son  of  the  gravedigger  of  Phalsbourg,  and 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT          109 

sometimes  between  ourselves  we  called  him 
"  Gravedigger."  This  he  took  in  good  part  from 
us;  but  one  evening  after  drill,  as  he  wras  crossing 
the  yard,  a  hussar  cried  out : 

"  Halloo,  Gravedigger!  help  me  to  drag  in  these 
bundles  of  straw." 

Zebede,  turning  about,  replied : 

"  My  name  is  not  Gravedigger,  and  you  can  drag 
in  your  own  straw.  Do  you  take  me  for  a  fool?  " 

Then  the  other  cried  in  a  still  louder  tone : 

"  Conscript,  you  had  better  come,  or  beware !  " 

Zebede,  with  his  great  hooked  nose,  his  gray  eyes 
and  thin  lips,  never  bore  too  good  a  character  for 
mildness.  He  went  up  to  the  hussar  and  asked : 

"  What  is  that  you  say?  " 

"  I  tell  you  to  take  up  those  bundles  of  straw, 
and  quickly,  too.  Do  you  hear,  conscript?  " 

He  was  quite  an  old  man,  with  mustaches  and 
red,  bushy  whiskers.  Zebede  seized  one  of  the 
latter,  but  received  two  blows  in  the  face.  Never- 
theless, a  fist-full  of  the  whisker  remained  in  his 
grasp,  and,  as  the  dispute  had  attracted  a  crowd  to 
the  spot,  the  hussar  shook  his  finger,  saying: 

"  You  will  hear  from  me  to-morrow,  conscript." 

"  Very  good,"  returned  Zebede ;  "  we  shall  see. 
You  will  probably  hear  from  me  too,  veteran." 

He  came  immediately  after  to  tell  me  all  this, 


no          THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

and  I,  knowing  that  he  had  never  handled  a  weapon 
more  warlike  than  a  pickaxe,  could  not  help  trem- 
bling for  him. 

"Listen,  Zebede,"  I  said;  "all  that  there  now 
remains  for  you  to  do,  since  you  do  not  want  to 
desert,  is  to  ask  pardon  of  this  old  fellow;  for  those 
veterans  all  know  some  fearful  tricks  of  fence  which 
they  have  brought  from  Egypt  or  Spain,  or  some- 
where else.  If  you  wish,  I  will  lend  you  a  crown 
to  pay  for  a  bottle  of  wine  to  make  up  the  quarrel." 

But  he,  knitting  his  brows,  would  hear  none  of 
this. 

"  Rather  than  beg  his  pardon,"  said  he,  "  I 
would  go  and  hang  myself.  I  laugh  him  and  his 
comrades  to  scorn.  If  he  has  tricks  of  fence,  I 
have  a  long  arm,  that  will  drive  my  sabre  through 
his  bones  as  easily  as  his  will  penetrate  my  flesh." 

The  thought  of  the  blows  made  him  insensible 
to  reason;  and  soon  Chazy,  the  maitre  d'armcs, 
Corporal  Fleury,  Furst,  and  Leger  came  in.  They 
all  said  that  Zebede  was  in  the  right,  and  the 
maitre  d'armes  added  that  blood  alone  could  wash 
out  the  stain  of  a  blow;  that  the  honor  of  the  re- 
cruits required  Zebede  to  fight. 

Zebede  answered  proudly  that  the  men  of  Phals- 
bourg  had  never  feared  the  sight  of  a  little  blood, 
and  that  he  was  ready.  Then  the  maitre  d'armes 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT          m 

went  to  see  our  Captain,  Florentin,  who  was  one 
of  the  most  magnificent  men  imaginable — tall, 
well-formed,  broad-shouldered,  with  regular  feat- 
ures, and  the  Cross,  which  the  Emperor  had  him- 
self given  him  at  Eylau.  The  captain  even  went 
further  than  the  maltre  d'armes;  he  thought  it 
would  set  the  conscripts  a  good  example,  and  that 
if  Zebede  refused  to  fight  he  would  be  unworthy 
to  remain  in  the  Third  Battalion  of  the  Sixth  of  the 
Line. 

All  that  night  I  could  not  close  my  eyes.  I 
heard  the  deep  breathing  of  my  poor  comrade  as 
he  slept,  and  I  thought:  "Poor  Zebede!  another 
day,  and  you  will  breathe  no  more."  I  shuddered 
to  think  how  near  I  was  to  a  man  so  near  death. 
At  last,  as  day  broke,  I  fell  asleep,  when  suddenly 
I  felt  a  cold  blast  of  wind  strike  me.  I  opened 
my  eyes,  and  there  I  saw  the  old  hussar.  He  had 
lifted  up  the  coverlet  of  our  bed,  and  said  as  I 
awoke  : 

"  Up,  sluggard !  I  will  show  you  what  manner 
of  man  you  struck." 

Zebede  rose  tranquilly,  saying: 
"  I  was  asleep,  veteran ;  I  was  asleep." 
The    other,    hearing    himself    thus    mockingly 
called  "  veteran,"  would  have  fallen  upon  my  com- 
rade in  his  bed;  but  two  tall  fellows  who  served 


H2          THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

him.  as  seconds  held  him  back,  and,  besides,  the 
Phalsbourg  men  were  there. 

"  Quick,  quick!     Hurry!  "  cried  the  old  hussar. 

But  Zebede  dressed  himself  calmly,  without  any 
haste.  After  a  moment's  silence,  he  said: 

"  Have  we  permission  to  go  outside  our  quar- 
ters, old  fellows? " 

"  There  is  room  enough  for  us  in  the  yard,"  re- 
plied one  of  the  hussars. 

Zebede  put  on  his  great-coat,  and,  turning  to  me, 
said: 

"  Joseph  and  you,  Klipfel,  I  choose  for  my  sec- 
onds." 

But  I  shook  my  head. 

"  Well,  then,  Furst,"  said  he. 

The  whole  party  descended  the  stairs  together. 
I  thought  Zebede  was  lost,  and  thought  it  hard, 
that  not  only  must  the  Russians  seek  our  lives,  but 
that  we  must  seek  each  other's. 

All  the  men  in  the  room  crowded  to  the  win- 
dows. I  alone  remained  behind  upon  my  bed.  At 
the  end  of  five  minutes  the  clash  of  sabres  made 
my  heart  almost  cease  to  beat;  the  blood  seemed 
no  longer  to  flow  through  my  veins. 

But  this  did  not  last  long;  for  suddenly  Klipfel 
exclaimed,  "  Touched !  " 

Then  I  made  my  way — I  know  not  how — to  a 


THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT  113 

window,  and,  looking  over  the  heads  of  the  others, 
saw  the  old  hussar  leaning  against  the  wall,  and 
Zebede  rising,  his  sabre  all  dripping  with  blood. 
He  had  fallen  upon  his  knees  during  the  fight, 
and,  while  the  old  man's  sword  pierced  the  air 
just  above  his  shoulder,  he  plunged  his  blade 
into  the  hussar's  breast.  If  he  had  not  slipped, 
he  himself  would  have  been  run  through  and 
through. 

The  hussar  sank  at  the  foot  of  the  wall.  His 
seconds  lifted  him  in  their  arms,  while  Zebede  pale 
as  a  corpse,  gazed  at  his  bloody  sabre,  and  Klipfel 
handed  him  his  cloak.  Almost  immediately  the 
reveille  was  sounded,  and  we  went  off  to  morning 
call. 

These  events  happened  on  the  eighteenth  of 
February.  The  same  day  we  received  orders  to 
pack  our  knapsacks,  and  left  Frankfort  for  Se- 
ligenstadt,  where  we  remained  until  the  eighth  of 
March,  by  which  time  all  the  recruits  were  well 
instructed  in  the  use  of  the  musket  and  the  school 
of  the  platoon.  From  Seligenstadt  we  went  to 
Schweinheim,  and  on  the  twenty-fourth  of  March, 
1813,  joined  the  division  at  Aschaffenbourg,  where 
Marshal  !N"ey  passed  us  in  review. 

The  captain  of  the  company  was  named  Flo- 
rentin;  the  lieutenant,  Breton  ville;  the  com- 


U4          THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

mandant  of  the  battalion,  Gemeau;  the  captain, 
Vidal;  the  colonel,  Zapf el;  the  general  of  brigade, 
Ladoucette;  and  the  general  of  division,  Souham. 
These  are  things  that  every  soldier  should  know. 


XI 

THE  melting  of  the  snows  began  about  the  mid- 
dle of  March.  I  remember  that  during  the  great 
review  of  Aschaffenbourg,  on  a  large  open  space 
whence  one  saw  the  Main  as  far  as  eye  could  reach, 
the  rain  never  ceased  to  fall  from  ten  o'clock  in  the 
morning  till  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  We 
had  on  our  left  a  castle,  from  the  windows  of  which 
people  looked  out  quite  at  their  ease,  while  the 
water  ran  into  our  shoes.  On  the  right  the  river 
rushed,  foaming,  seen  dimly  as  if  through  a  mist. 
Every  moment,  to  keep  us  brightened  up,  the  order 
rang  out : 

"  Carry  arms!     Shoulder  arms!  " 

The  Marshal  advanced  slowly,  surrounded  by 
his  staff.  What  consoled  Zebede  was,  that  we  were 
about  to  see  "  the  bravest  of  the  brave."  I  thought 
"  If  I  could  only  get  a  place  at  the  corner  of  a 
good  fire,  I  would  gladly  forego  that  pleasure." 

At  last  he  arrived  in  front  of  us,  and  I  can  yet 
see  him,  his  chapeau  dripping  with  rain,  his  blue 


n6          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

coat  covered  with  embroidery  and  decorations,  and 
his  great  boots.  He  was  a  handsome,  florid  man, 
with  a  short  nose  and  sparkling  eyes.  He  did  not 
seem  at  all  haughty;  for,  as  he  passed  our  com- 
pany, who  presented  arms,  he  turned  suddenly  in 
his  saddle  and  said : 

"Hold!    It  isFlorentin!" 

Then  the  captain  stood  erect,  not  knowing  what 
to  reply.  It  seemed  that  the  Marshal  and  he  had 
been  common  soldiers  together  in  the  time  of  the 
Republic.  The  captain  at  last  answered: 

"  Yes,  Marshal;  it  is  Sebastian  Florentin." 

"  Faith,  Florentin,"  said  the  Marshal,  stretch- 
ing him  arm  toward  Russia,  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you 
again.  I  thought  we  had  left  you  there." 

All  our  company  felt  honored,  and  Zebede  said: 
"  That  is  what  I  call  a  man.  I  would  spill  my  blood 
for  him." 

I  could  not  see  why  Zebede  should  wish  to  spill 
his  blood  because  the  Marshal  had  spoken  a  few 
words  to  an  old  comrade. 

That's  all  I  remember  of  Aschaffenbourg. 

In  the  evening  we  went  in  again  to  eat  our  soup 
at  Schweinheim,  a  place  rich  in  wines,  hemp,  and 
corn,  where  almost  everybody  looked  at  us  with  un- 
friendly eyes. 

We  lodged  by  threes  or  fours  in  the  houses,  like 


THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT  117 

so  many  bailiff's  men,  and  had  meat  every  day, 
either  beef,  mutton,  or  bacon. 

Our  bread  was  very  good,  as  was  also  our  wine. 
But  many  of  our  men  pretended  to  find  fault  with 
everything,  thinking  thus  to  pass  for  people  of 
consequence.  They  were  mistaken;  for  more  than 
once  I  heard  the  citizens  say  in  German : 

"  Those  fellows,  in  their  own  country,  were  only 
beggars.  If  they  returned  to  France,  they  would 
find  nothing  but  potatoes  to  live  upon." 

And  the  citizens  were  quite  right;  and  I  always 
found  that  people  so  difficult  to  please  abroad  were 
but  poor  wretches  at  home.  For  my  part,  I  was 
well  content  to  meet  such  good  fare.  Two  con- 
scripts from  St.-Die  were  with  me  at  the  village- 
postmaster's:  his  horses  had  almost  all  been  taken 
for  our  cavalry.  This  could  not  have  put  him  into 
a  good  humOr;  but  he  said  nothing,  and  smoked  his 
pipe  behind  the  stove  from  morning  till  night. 
His  wife  was  a  tall,  strong  woman,  and  his  two 
daughters  were  very  pretty  ;  they  were  afraid 
of  us,  and  ran  away  when  we  returned  from 
drill,  or  from  mounting  guard  at  the  end  of  the 
village. 

On  the  evening  of  the  fourth  day,  as  we  were  fin- 
ishing our  supper,  an  old  man  in  a  great-coat  came 
in.  His  hair  was  white,  and  his  mien  and  appear- 


n8          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

ance  neat  and  respectable.    He  saluted  us,  and  then 
said  to  the  master  of  the  house,  in  German : 

"  These  are  recruits?  " 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  Stenger,"  replied  the  other, 
"  we  will  never  be  rid  of  them.  If  I  could  poison 
them  all,  it  would  be  a  good  deed." 

I  turned  quietly,  and  said: 

"  I  understand  German:  do  not  speak  in  such  a 
manner." 

The  postmaster's  pipe  fell  from  his  hand. 

"  You  are  very  imprudent  in  your  speech,  Mon- 
sieur Kalkreuth,"  said  the  old  man;  "if  others 
beside  this  young  man  had  understood  you,  you 
know  what  would  happen." 

"  It  is  only  my  way  of  talking,"  replied  the  post- 
master. "  What  can  you  expect?  When  every- 
thing is  taken  from  you — when  you  are  robbed, 
year  after  year — it  is  but  natural  that  you  should 
at  last  speak  bitterly." 

The  old  man,  who  was  none  other  than  the  pastor 
of  Schweinheim,  then  said  to  me : 

"  Monsieur,  your  manner  of  acting  is  that  of  an 
honest  man;  believe  me  that  Monsieur  Kalkreuth 
is  incapable  of  such  a  deed — of  doing  evil  even  to 
our  enemies." 

"  I  do  believe  it,  sir,"  I  replied,  "  or1 1  should 
not  eat  so  heartily  of  these  sausages." 


THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT  119 

The  postmaster,  bearing  these  words,  began  to 
laugh,  and,  in  the  excess  of  his  joy,  cried: 

"  I  would  never  have  thought  that  a  Frenchman 
could  have  made  me  laugh." 

My  two  comrades  were  ordered  for  guard  duty; 
they  went,  but  I  alone  remained.  Then  the  post- 
master went  after  a  bottle  of  old  wine,  and  seated 
himself  at  the  table  to  drink  with  me,  which  I 
gladly  agreed  to.  From  that  day  until  our  depart- 
ure, these  people  had  every  confidence  in  me. 
Every  evening  we  chatted  at  the  corner  of  the  fire ; 
the  pastor  came,  and  even  the  young  girls  would 
come  downstairs  to  listen.  They  were  of  fair  and 
light  complexion,  with  blue  eyes;  one  was  perhaps 
eighteen,  the  other  twenty;  I  thought  I  saw  in 
them  a  resemblance  to  Catharine,  and  this  made  my 
heart  beat. 

They  knew  that  I  had  a  sweetheart  at  home, 
because  I  could  not  help  telling  them  so,  and  this 
made  them  pity  me. 

The  postmaster  complained  bitterly  of  the 
French,  the  pastor  said  they  were  a  vain,  immoral 
nation,  and  that  on  that  account  all  Germany  would 
soon  rise  against  us;  that  they  were  weary  of  the 
evil  doings  of  our  soldiers  and  the  cupidity  of  our 
generals,  and  had  formed  the  Tugend-Bund*  to 

oppose  us. 

*  League  of  Tirtue. 


120          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

"  At  first,"  said  he,  "  you  talked  to  us  of  liberty: 
we  liked  to  hear  that,  and  our  good  wishes  were 
rather  for  your  armies  than  those  of  the  King  of 
Prussia  and  Emperor  of  Austria;  you  made  war 
upon  our  soldiers  and  not  upon  us;  you  upheld 
ideas  which  every  one  thought  great  and  just,  and 
so  you  did  not  quarrel  with  peoples  but  only  with 
their  masters.  To-day  it  is  very  different;  all  Ger- 
many is  flying  to  arms;  all  her  youth  are  rising, 
and  it  is  we  who  talk  of  Liberty,  of  Virtue  and  of 
Justice  to  France.  He  who  has  them  on  his  side  is 
ever  the  stronger,  because  he  has  against  him  only 
the  evil-minded  of  all  nations,  and  has  with  him 
youth,  courage,  great  ideas, — everything  which  lifts 
the  soul  above  thoughts  of  self,  and  which  urges 
man  to  sacrifice  his  life  without  regret.  You  have 
long  had  all  this,  but  you  wanted  it  no  longer. 
Long  ago,  I  well  remember,  your  generals  fought 
for  Liberty,  slept  on  straw,  in  barns,  like  simple 
soldiers  ;  they  were  men  of  might  and  terror;  now 
they  must  have  their  sofas;  they  are  more  noble 
than  our  nobles  and  richer  than  our  bankers.  So 
it  comes  to  pass  that  war,  once  so  grand — once  an 
art,  a  sacrifice — once  devotion  to  one's  country- 
has  become  a  trade,  for  sale  at  more  than  one  mar- 
ket. It  is,  to  be  sure,  very  noble  yet,  since  epau- 
lettes are  yet  worn,  but  there  is  a  difference  between 


THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT  121 

fighting  for  immortal  ideas  and  fighting  merely  to 
enrich  one's  self. 

"  It  is  now  our  turn  to  talk  of  Liberty  and  Coun- 
try; and  this  is  the  reason  why  I  think  this  war 
will  be  a  sorrowful  one  for  you.  All  thinking  men, 
from  simple  students  to  professors  of  theology,  are 
rising  against  you  in  arms.  You  have  the  greatest 
general  of  the  world  at  your  head,  but  we  have 
eternal  justice.  You  believe  you  have  the  Saxons, 
the  Bavarians,  the  Badeners  and  the  Hessians  on 
your  side;  undeceive  yourselves;  the  children  of 
old  Germany  well  know  that  the  greatest  crime, 
the  greatest  shame,  is  to  fight  against  our  brothers. 
Let  kings  make  alliances;  the  people  are  against 
you  in  spite  of  them ;  they  are  defending  their  lives, 
their  Fatherland5 — all  that  God  makes  us  love  and 
that  we  cannot  betray  without  crime.  All  are 
ready  to  assail  you;  the  Austrians  would  massacre 
you  if  they  could,  notwithstanding  the  marriage  of 
Marie  Louise  with  your  Emperor;  men  begin  to 
see  that  the  interests  of  Kings  are  not  the  interests 
of  all  mankind,  and  that  the  greatest  genius  can- 
not change  the  nature  of  things." 

Thus  would  the  pastor  discourse  gravely;  but 
I  did  not  then  fully  understand  what  he  meant, 
and  I  thought,  "  Words  are  only  words ;  and  bul- 
lets are  bullets.  If  we  only  encounter  students  and 


122          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

professors  of  theology,  all  will  go  well,  and  disci- 
pline will  keep  the  Hessians  and  Bavarians  and 
Saxons  from  turning  against  us,  as  it  forces  us 
Frenchmen  to  fight,  little  as  we  may  like  it.  Does 
not  the  soldier  obey  the  corporal,  the  corporal  the 
sergeant,  and  so  on  to  the  marshal,  who  does  what 
the  King  wishes?  One  can  see  very  well  that  this 
pastor  never  served  in  a  regiment,  for  if  he  did  he 
would  know  that  ideas  are  nothing  and  orders 
everything;  but  I  do  not  care  to  contradict  him, 
for  then  the  postmaster  would  bring  me  no  more 
wine  after  supper.  Let  them  think  as  they  please. 
All  that  I  hope  is  that  we  shall  have  only  theolo- 
gians to  fight." 

While  we  used  to  chat  thus,  suddenly,  on  the 
morning  of  the  twenty-seventh  of  March,  the  order 
for  our  departure  came.  The  battalion  rested  that- 
night  at  Lauterbach,  the  next  at  JSTeukirchen,  and 
we  did  nothing  but  march,  march,  march.  Those 
who  did  not  grow  accustomed  to  carrying  the  knap- 
sack could  not  complain  of  want  of  practice.  How 
we  travelled!  I  no  longer  sweated  under  my  fifty 
cartridges  in  my  cartouche-box,  my  knapsack  on 
my  back  and  my  musket  on  iriy  shoulder,  and  I  do 
not  know  if  I  limped. 

We  were  not  the  only  ones  in  motion;  all  were 
marching;  everywhere  we  met  regiments  on  the 


THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT  123 

road,  detachments  of  cavalry,  long  lines  of  cannon, 
ammunition  trains — all  advancing  toward  Erfurt, 
as  after  a  heavy  rain  thousands  of  streams,  by  thou- 
sands of  channels,  seek  the  river. 

Our  sergeants  keep  repeating,  "  AVe  are  near- 
ing  them!  there  will  be  hot  work  soon;  "  and  we 
thought,  "  So  much  the  better!  "  that  those  beg- 
garly Prussians  and  Russians  had  drawn  their  fate 
upon  themselves.  If  they  had  remained  quiet  we 
would  have  been  yet  in  France. 

These  thoughts  embittered  us  all  toward  the 
enemy,  and  as  we  met  everywhere  people  who 
seemed  to  rejoice  alone  in  fighting,  Klipfel  and 
Zebede  talked  only  of  the  pleasure  it  would  give 
them  to  meet  the  Prussians ;  and  I,  not  to  seem  less 
courageous  than  they,  adopted  the  same  strain. 

On  the  eighth  of  April,  the  battalion  entered 
Erfurt,  and  I  will  never  forget  how,  when  we  broke 
ranks  before  the  barracks,  a  package  of  letters  was 
handed  to  the  sergeant  of  the  company.  Among 
the  number  was  one  for  me,  and  I  recognized  Cath- 
arine's writing  at  once.  This  affected  me  so  that  it 
made  my  knees  tremble.  Zebede  took  my  musket, 
telling  me  to  read  it,  for  he,  too,  was  glad  to  hear 
from  home. 

I  put  it  in  my  pocket,  and  all  our  Phalsbourg 
men  followed  me  to  hear  it,  but  I  only  commenced 


124          THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

when  I  was  quietly  seated  on  my  bed  in  the  bar- 
racks, while  they  crowded  around.  Tears  rolled 
down  my  cheeks  as  she  told  me  how  she  remembered 
and  prayed  for  the  far-off  conscript. 

My  comrades,  as  I  read,  exclaimed: 

"  And  we  are  sure  that  there  are  some  at  home 
to  pray  for  us,  too." 

One  spoke  of  his  mother,  another  of  his  sisters, 
and  another  of  his  sweetheart. 

At  the  end  of  the  letter,  Monsieur  Goulden  added 
a  few  words,  telling  me  that  all  our  friends  were 
well,  and  that  I  should  take  courage,  for  our 
troubles  could  not  last  forever.  He  charged  me 
to  be  sure  to  tell  my  comrades  that  their  friends 
thought  of  them  and  complained  of  not  having  re- 
ceived a  word  from  them. 

This  letter  was  a  consolation  to  us  all.  We  knew 
that  before  many  days  passed  we  must  be  on  the 
field  of  battle,  and  it  seemed  a  last  farewell  from 
home  for  at  least  half  of  us.  Many  were  never  to 
hear  again  from  their  parents,  friends,  or  those  who 
loved  them  in  this  world. 


xn 

BUT,  as  Sergeant  Pinto  said,  all  we  had  yet  seen 
was  but  the  prelude  to  the  ball;  the  dance  was  now 
about  to  commence. 

Meanwhile  we  did  duty  at  the  citadel  with  a  bat- 
talion of  the  Twenty-seventh,  and  from  the  top  of 
the  ramparts  we  saw  all  the  environs  covered  with 
troops,  some  bivouacking,  others  quartered  in  the 
villages. 

The  sergeant  had  formed  a  particular  friendship 
for  me,  and  on  the  eighteenth,  on  relieving  guard 
at  Warthau  gate,  he  said: 

"  Fusilier  Bertha,  the  Emperor  has  arrived." 

I  had  yet  heard  nothing  of  this,  and  replied,  re- 
spectfully : 

"  I  have  just  had  a  little  glass  with  the  sapper 
Merlin,  sergeant,  who  was  on  duty  last  night  at 
the  general's  quarters,  and  he  said  nothing  of  it." 

Then  he,  closing  his  eye,  said,  with  a  peculiar 
expression : 

"  Everything  is  moving ;  I  feel  his  presence  in 
the  air.  Y  ou  do  not  yet  understand  this,  conscript, 
125 


J26          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

but  he  is  here ;  everything  says  so.  Before  he  came, 
we  were  lame,  crippled;  only  a  wing  of  the  army 
seemed  able  to  move  at  once.  But  now,  look  there, 
see  those  couriers  galloping  over  the  road;  all  is 
life.  The  dance  is  beginning:  the  dance  is  begin- 
ning! Kaiserliks  and  the  Cossacks  do  not  need 
spectacles  to  see  that  he  is  with  us;  they  will  feel 
him  presently." 

And  the  sergeant's  laugh  rang  hoarsely  from  be- 
neath his  long  mustaches.  I  had  a  presentiment 
that  great  misfortunes  might  be  coming  upon  me, 
yet  I  was  forced  to  put  a  good  face  upon  it.  But 
the  sergeant  was  right,  for  that  very  day,  about 
three  in  the  afternoon,  all  the  troops  stationed 
around  the  city  were  in  motion,  and  at  five  we  were 
put  under  arms.  The  Marshal  Prince  of  Moskowa 
entered  the  town  surrounded  by  the  officers  and 
generals  who  composed  his  staff,  and,  almost  imme- 
diately after,  the  gray-haired  Souham  followed  and 
passed  us  in  review  upon  the  square.  Then  he 
spoke  in  a  loud,  clear  voice  so  that  every  one  could 
hear: 

"  Soldiers!  "  said  he,  "  you  will  form  part  of  the 
advance-guard  of  the  Third  corps.  Try  to  remem- 
ber that  you  are  Frenchmen.  Vive  I'Empcrcur  !  " 

All  shouted  "  Vive  VEmpereur!  "  till  the  echoes 
rang  again,  while  the  general  departed  with  Colo- 
nel Zapfel. 


THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT  127 

That  night  we  were  relieved  by  the  Hessians,  and 
left  Erfurt  with  the  Tenth  hussars  and  a  regiment 
of  chasseurs.  At  six  or  seven  in  the  morning  we 
were  before  the  city  of  Weimar,  and  saw  the  sun 
rising  on  its  gardens,  its  churches,  and  its  houses, 
as  well  as  on  an  old  castle  to  the  right.  Here  we 
bivouacked,  and  the  hussars  went  forward  to  re- 
connoitre the  town.  About  nine,  while  we  were 
breakfasting,  suddenly  we  heard  the  rattle  of  mus- 
ketry and  carbines.  Our  hussars  had  encountered 
the  Prussian  hussars  in  the  streets,  and  they  were 
firing  on  each  other.  But  it  was  so  far  off  that  we 
saw  nothing  of  the  combat. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  the  hussars  returned,  hav- 
ing lost  two  men.  Thus  began  the  campaign. 

We  remained  five  days  in  our  camp,  while  the 
whole  Third  corps  were  coming  up.  As  we  were 
the  advance-guard,  we  started  again  by  way  of  Suiza 
and  Warthau.  Then  we  saw  the  enemy;  Cossacks 
who  kept  ever  beyond  the  range  of  our  guns,  and 
the  farther  they  retired  the  greater  grew  our  cour- 
age. 

But  it  annoyed  me  to  hear  Zebede  constantly 
exclaiming  in  a  tone  of  ill-humor: 

"  Will  they  never  stop ;   never  make  a  stand !  " 

I  thought  that  if  they  kept  retreating  we  could 
ask  nothing  better.  We  would  gain  all  we  wanted 
without  loss  of  life  or  suffering. 


128          THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

But  at  last  they  halted  on  the  farther  side  of  the 
broad  and  deep  river,  and  I  saw  a  great  number 
posted  near  the  bank  to  cut  us  to  pieces  if  we  should 
cross  unsupported. 

It  was  the  twenty-ninth  of  April,  and  growing 
late.  Kever  did  I  see  a  more  glorious  sunset.  On 
the  opposite  side  of  the  river  stretched  a  wide  plain 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  and  on  this,  sharply 
outlined  against  the  glowing  sky,  stood  horsemen, 
with  their  shakos  drooping  forward,  their  green 
jackets,  little  cartridge-boxes  slung  under  the  arm, 
and  their  sky-blue  trousers;  behind  them  glittered 
thousands  of  lances,  and  Sergeant  Pinto  recognized 
them  as  the  Russian  cavalry  and  Cossacks.  He 
knew  the  river,  too,  which,  he  said,  was  the  Saale. 

We  went  as  near  as  we  could  to  the  water  to  ex- 
change shots  with  the  horsemen,  but  they  retired 
and  at  last  disappeared  entirely  under  the  blood- 
red  sky.  We  made  our  bivouac  along  the  river, 
and  posted  our  sentries.  On  our  left  was  a  large 
village;  a  detachment  was  sent  to  it  to  purchase 
meat;  for  since  the  arrival  of  the  Emperor  we  had 
orders  to  pay  for  everything. 

During  the  night  other  regiments  of  the  division 
came  up;  they,  too,  bivouacked  along  the  bank, 
and  their  long  lines  of  fires,  reflected  in  the  ever- 
moving  waters,  glared  grandly  through  the  dark- 
ness. 


THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT  129 

~No  one  felt  inclined  to  sleep.  Zebede,  Klipfel, 
Furst,  and  I  messed  together,  and  we  chatted  as 
we  lay  around  our  fire: 

"  To-morrow  we  will  have  it  hot  enough,  if  we 
attempt  to  cross  the  river!  Our  friends  in  Phals- 
bourg,  over  their  warm  suppers,  scarcely  think  of 
us  lying  here,  with  nothing  but  a  piece  of  cow- 
beef  to  eat,  a  river  flowing  beside  us,  the  damp 
earth  beneath,  and  only  the  sky  for  a  roof,  without 
speaking  of  the  sabre-cuts  and  bayonet- thrusts  our 
friends  yonder  have  in  store  for  us." 

"  Bah !  "  said  Klipfel ;  "  this  is  life.  I  would  not 
pass  my  days  otherwise.  To  enjoy  life  we  must 
be  well  to-day,  sick  to-morrow ;  then  we  appreciate 
the  pleasure  of  the  change  from  pain  to  ease.  As 
for  shots  and  sabre-strokes,  with  God's  aid,  we  will 
give  as  good  as  we  take!  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Zebede,  lighting  his  pipe,  **  when  I 
lose  my  place  in  the  ranks,  it  will  not  be  for  the 
want  of  striking  hard  at  the  Russians!  " 

So  we  lay  wakeful  for  two  or  three  hours.  Leger 
lay  stretched  out  in  his  great-coat,  his  feet  to  the 
fire,  asleep,  when  the  sentinel  cried: 

"Who  goes  there?" 

"France!" 

"What  regiment?" 

"  Sixth  of  the  Line." 
9 


I3o          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

It  was  Marshal  Ney  and  General  Brenier,  witH 
engineer  and  artillery  officers,  and  guns.  The  Mar- 
shal replied  "  Sixth  of  the  Line,"  because  he  knew 
"beforehand  that  we  were  there,  and  this  little  fact 
rejoiced  us  and  made  us  feel  very  proud.  We  saw 
him  pass  on  horseback  with  General  Souham  and 
five  or  six  other  officers  of  high  grade,  and  although 
it  was  night  we  could  see  them  distinctly,  for  the 
sky  was  covered  with  stars  and  the  moon  shone 
bright;  it  was  almost  as  light  as  day. 

They  stopped  at  a  bend  of  the  river  and  posted 
six  guns,  and  immediately  after  a  pontoon  train 
arrived  with  oak  planks  and  all  things  necessary 
for  throwing  two  bridges  across.  Our  hussars 
scoured  the  banks  collecting  boats,  and  the  artillery- 
men stood  at  their  pieces  to  sweep  down  any  who 
might  try  to  hinder  the  work.  For  a  long  while 
we  watched  their  labor,  while  again  and  again  we 
heard  the  sentry's  "  Qui  vive!"  It  was  the  regi- 
ments of  the  Third  corps  arriving. 

At  daybreak  I  fell  asleep,  and  Klipfel  had  to 
shake  me  to  arouse  me.  On  every  side  they  were 
beating  the  reveille ;  the  bridges  were  finished,  and 
we  were  going  to  cross  the  Saale. 

A  heavy  dew  had  fallen,  and  each  man  hastened 
to  wipe  his  musket,  to  roll  up  his  great-coat  and 
buckle  it  on  his  knapsack.  One  assisted  the  other, 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT          131 

and  we  were  soon  in  the  ranks.  It  might  have  been 
four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  everything  seemed 
gray  in  the  mist  that  arose  from  the  river.  Already 
two  battalions  were  crossing  on  the  bridges,  the 
officers  and  colors  in  the  centre.  Then  the  artillery 
and  caissons  crossed. 

Captain  Florentin  had  just  ordered  us  to  renew 
our  primings,  when  General  Souham,  General 
Chemineau,  Colonel  Zapfel,  and  our  commandant 
arrived.  The  battalion  began  its  march.  I  looked 
forward  expecting  to  see  the  Russians  coming  on 
at  a  gallop,  but  nothing  stirred. 

As  each  regiment  reached  the  farther  bank  it 
formed  a  square  with  ordered  arms.  At  five  o'clock 
the  entire  division  had  passed.  The  sun  dispersed 
the  mist,  and  we  saw,  about  three-fourths  of  a  league 
to  our  right,  an  old  city  with  its  pointed  roofs, 
slated  clock-tower,  surmounted  by  a  cross,  and,  far- 
ther away,  a  castle ;  it  was  Weissenf  els. 

Between  us  and  the  city  was  a  deep  valley.  Mar- 
shal Ney,  who  had  just  come  up,  washed  to  recon- 
noitre this  before  advancing  into  it.  Two  com- 
panies of  the  Twenty-seventh  were  deployed  as 
skirmishers  and  the  squares  moved  onward  in  com- 
mon time,  with  the  officers,  sappers,  and  drums  in 
the  centre,  the  cannon  in  the  intervals  and  the  cais- 
sons in  the  rear. 


I32  THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT 

We  all  mistrusted  this  valley — tlie  more  so  since 
we  had  seen,  the  evening  before,  a  mass  of  cavalry, 
which  could  not  have  retired  beyond  the  great  plain 
that  lay  before  us.  Notwithstanding  our  distrust, 
it  made  us  feel  very  proud  and  brave  to  see  our- 
selves drawn  up  in  our  long  ranks — our  muskets 
loaded,  the  colors  advanced,  the  generals  in  the  rear 
full  of  confidence — to  see  our  masses  thus  moving 
onward  without  hurry,  but  calmly  marking  the 
step;  yes,  it  was  enough  to  make  our  hearts  beat 
high  with  pride  and  hope!  And  I  said  to  myself: 
"  Perhaps  at  sight  of  us  the  enemy  will  fly,  which 
will  be  the  best  for  them  and  for  us." 

I  was  in  the  second  rank,  behind  Zebede,  and 
from  time  to  time  I  glanced  at  the  other  square, 
which  was  moving  on  the  same  line  with  us,  in  the 
centre  of  which  I  saw  the  Marshal  and  his  staff, 
all  trying  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  what  was  going  on 
ahead. 

The  skirmishers  had  by  this  time  reached  the 
ravine,  which  was  bordered  with  brambles  and 
hedges.  I  had  already  seen  a  movement  on  its  far- 
ther side,  like  the  motion  of  a  cornfield  in  the  wind, 
and  the  thought  struck  me  that  the  Russians,  with 
their  lances  and  sabres,  were  there,  although  I  could 
scarcely  believe  it.  But  when  our  skirmishers 
reached  the  hedges,  the  fusillade  began,  and  I  saw 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT  1-3 

clearly  the  glitter  of  their  lances.  At  the  same  in- 
stant a  flash  like  lightning  gleamed  in  front  of  us, 
followed  by  a  fierce  report.  The  Russians  had  their 
cannon  with  them;  they  had  opened  on  us.  I  know 
not  what  noise  made  me  turn  my  head,  and  there 
I  saw  an  empty  space  in  the  ranks  to  my  left. 

At  the  same  time  Colonel  Zapfel  said  quietly: 

"Close  up  the  ranks!  " 

And  Captain  Florentin  repeated: 

"Close  up  the  ranks!  " 

All  this  was  done  so  quickly  that  I  had  no  time 
for  thought.  But  fifty  paces  farther  on  another 
flash  shone  out;  there  was  another  murmur  in  the 
ranks — as  if  a  fierce  wind  was  passing — and  another 
vacant  space,  this  time  to  the  right. 

And  thus,  after  every  shot  from  the  Russians, 
the  colonel  said,  "  Close  up  the  ranks!  "  and  I  knew 
that  each  time  he  spoke  there  was  a  breach  in  the 
living  wall!  It  was  no  pleasant  thing  to  think  of, 
but  still  we  marched  on  toward  the  valley.  At  last 
I  did  not  dare  to  think  at  all,  when  General  Che- 
mineau,  who  had  entered  our  square,  cried  in  a 
terrible  voice: 

"Halt!" 

I  looked  forward,  and  saw  a  mass  of  Russians 
coming  down  upon  us. 

"Front  rank,  kneel!  Fix  bayonets!  Ready!" 
cried  the  general. 


I34          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

As  Zebede  knelt,  I  was  now,  so  to  speak,  in  the 
front  rank.  On  came  the  line  of  horses,  each  rider 
bending  over  his  saddle-bow,  with  sabre  flashing  in 
his  hand.  Then  again  the  general's  voice  was  heard 
behind  us,  calm,  tranquil,  giving  orders  as  coolly 
as  on  parade: 

"  Attention  for  the  command  of  fire !  Aim ! 
Fire!  " 

The  four  squares  fired  together;  it  seemed  as  if 
the  skies  were  falling  in  the  crash.  When  the  smoke 
lifted,  we  saw  the  Russians  broken  and  flying;  but 
our  artillery  opened,  and  the  cannon-balls  sped 
faster  than  they. 

"  Charge!  "  shouted  the  general. 

Never  in  my  life  did  such  a  wild  joy  possess  me. 
On  every  side  the  cry  of  Vive  VEmpereur!  shook 
the  air,  and  in  my  excitement  I  shouted  like  the 
others.  But  we  could  not  pursue  them  far,  and 
soon  we  were  again  moving  calmly  on.  We  thought 
the  fight  was  ended ;  but  when  within  two  or  three 
hundred  paces  of  the  ravine,  we  heard  the  rush  of 
horses,  and  again  the  general  cried: 

"Halt!    Kneel!    Fix  bayonets!  " 

On  came  the  Russians  from  the  valley  like  ft 
whirlwind;  the  earth  shook  beneath  their  weight; 
we  heard  no  more  orders,  but  each  man  knew  that 
lie  must  fire  into  the  mass,  and  the  file-firing  began, 


" CLOSE  UP  THE  RANKS  I ' 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 


135 


rattling  like  the  drums  in  a  grand  review.  Those 
who  have  not  seen  a  battle  can  form  but  little  idea 
of  the  excitement,  the  confusion,  and  yet  the  order 
of  such  a  moment.  A  few  of  the  Russians  neared 
us;  we  saw  their  forms  appear  a  moment  through 
the  smoke,  and  then  saw  them  no  more.  In  a 
few  moments  more  the  ringing  voice  of  General 
Chemineau  arose,  sounding  above  the  crash  and 
rattle : 

"  Cease  firing!  " 

We  scarcely  dared  obey.  Each  one  hastened  to 
deliver  a  final  shot;  then  the  smoke  slowly  lifted, 
and  we  saw  a  mass  of  cavalry  ascending  the  farther 
side  of  the  ravine. 

The  squares  deployed  at  once  into  columns;  the 
drums  beat  the  charge ;  our  artillery  still  continued 
its  fire;  we  rushed  on,  shouting: 

"Forward!  forward!    Vive  VEmpercur!  " 

We  descended  the  ravine,  over  heaps  of  horses 
and  Russians;  some  dead,  some  writhing  upon  the 
earth,  and  we  ascended  the  slope  toward  Weissen- 
fels  at  a  quick  step.  The  Cossacks  and  chasseurs 
bent  forward  in  their  saddles,  their  cartridge-boxes 
dangling  behind  them,  galloping  before  us  in  full 
flight.  The  battle  was  won. 

But  as  we  reached  the  gardens  of  the  city,  they 
posted  their  cannon,  which  they  had  brought  off 


136          THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT 

with  them,  behind  a  sort  of  orchard,  and  reopened 
upon  us,  a  ball  carrying  away  both  the  axe  and 
head  of  the  sapper,  Merlin.  The  corporal  of  sap- 
pers, Thome,  had  his  arm  fractured  by  a  piece  of 
the  axe,  and  they  were  compelled  to  amputate  his 
arm  at  Weissenfels.  Then  we  started  toward  them 
on  a  run,  for  the  sooner  we  reached  them  the  less 
time  they  would  have  for  firing. 

"We  entered  the  city  at  three  places,  marching 
through  hedges,  gardens,  hop-fields,  and  climbing 
over  walls.  The  marshals  and  generals  followed 
after.  Our  regiment  entered  by  an  avenue  bor- 
dered with  poplars,  which  ran  along  the  cemetery, 
and,  as  we  debouched  in  the  public  square  another 
column  came  through  the  main  street. 

There  we  halted,  and  the  Marshal,  without  losing 
a  moment,  despatched  the  Twenty-seventh  to  take 
a  bridge  and  cut  off  the  enemy's  retreat.  During 
this  time  the  rest  of  the  division  arrived,  and  was 
drawn  up  in  the  square.  The  burgomaster  and 
councillors  of  Weissenfels  were  already  on  the  steps 
of  the  town-hall  to  bid  us  welcome. 

When  we  were  re-formed,  the  Marshal-Prince  of 
Moskowa  passed  before  the  front  of  our  battalion 
and  said  joyfully: 

"Well  done!  I  am  satisfied  with  you!  The 
Emperor  will  know  of  your  conduct !  " 


THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT  137 

He  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  way  we  rushed 
on  the  guns.  General  Souham  cried: 

"  Things  go  bravely  on !  " 

He  replied: 

"  Yes,  yes ;   'tis  in  the  blood !   'tis  in  the  blood." 

The  battalion  remained  there  until  the  next  day. 
We  were  lodged  with  the  citizens,  who  were  afraid 
of  us  and  gave  us  all  we  asked.  The  Twenty-sev- 
enth returned  in  the  evening  and  was  quartered  in 
the  old  chateau.  We  were  very  tired.  After  smok- 
ing two  or  three  pipes  together,  chatting  about  our 
glory,  Zebedc,  Klipfel  and  I  went  together  to  the 
shop  of  a  joiner  and  slept  on  a  heap  of  shavings, 
and  remained  there  until  midnight,  when  they  beat 
the  reveille.  We  rose;  the  joiner  gave  us  some 
brandy,  and  we  went  out.  The  rain  was  falling  in 
torrents.  That  night  the  battalion  went  to  bivouac 
before  the  village  of  Clepen,  two  hours'  march  from 
Weissenfels. 

Other  detachments  came  and  rejoined  us.  The 
Emperor  had  arrived  at  Weissenfels,  and  all  the 
Third  corps  were^to  follow  us.  We  talked  only  of 
this  all  the  day;  but  the  day  after,  at  five  in  the 
morning,  we  set  off  again  in  the  advance. 

Before  us  rolled  a  river  called  the  Rippach.  In- 
stead of  turning  aside  to  take  the  bridge,  we  forded 
it  where  we  were.  The  water  reached  our  waists; 


138          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

and  I  thought,  as  I  pulled  my  shoes  out  of  the  mud, 
"  If  any  one  had  told  me  this  in  the  days  when  1 
was  afraid  of  catching  a  cold  in  the  head  at  M. 
Goulden's,  and  when  I  changed  my  stockings  twice 
a  week,  I  should  never  have  believed  it.  Well, 
strange  things  happen  to  one  in  this  life." 

As  we  passed  down  the  other  bank  of  the  river 
in  the  rushes,  we  discovered  a  band  of  Cossacks  ob- 
serving us  from  the  heights  to  the  left.  They  fol- 
lowed slowly,  without  daring  to  attack  us,  and  s<3 
we  kept  on  until  it  was  broad  day,  when  suddenly 
a  terrific  fusillade  and  the  thunder  of  heavy  guns 
made  us  turn  our  heads  toward  Clepen.  The  com- 
mandant, on  horseback,  looked  over  the  tops  of  the 
reeds. 

The  sounds  of  conflict  lasted  a  considerable  time, 
and  Sergeant  Pinto  said : 

"  The  division  is  advancing;  it  is  attacked." 

The  Cossacks  gazed,  too,  toward  the  fight,  and 
at  the  end  of  an  hour  disappeared.  Then  we  saw 
the  division  advancing  in  column  in  the  plain  to  the 
right,  driving  before  them  the  masses  of  Russian 
cavalry. 

"  Forward!  "  cried  the  commandant. 

We  ran,  without  knowing  why,  along  the  river 
bank,  until  we  reached  an  old  bridge  where  the 
Rippach  and  Gruna  met.  Here  we  were  to  inter- 


THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT  139 

eept  the  enemy:  but  the  Cossacks  had  discovered 
our  design,  and  their  whole  army  fell  back  behind 
the  Gruna,  which  they  forded,  and,  the  division 
rejoining  us,  we  learned  that  Marshal  Bessieres  had 
been  killed  by  a  cannon-ball. 

We  left  the  bridge  to  bivouac  before  the  village 
of  Gorschen.  The  rumor  that  a  great  battle  was 
approaching  ran  through  the  ranks,  and  they  said 
that  all  that  had  passed  was  only  a  trial  to  see  how 
the  recruits  would  act  under  fire.  One  may  im- 
agine the  reflections  of  a  thoughtful  man  under  such 
circumstances,  among  such  hare-brained  fellows  as 
Furst,  Zebede,  and  Klipfel,  who  seemed  to  rejoice 
at  the  prospect,  as  if  it  could  bring  them  aught  else 
than  bullet-wounds  or  sabre-cuts.  All  night  long 
I  thought  of  Catharine,  and  prayed  God  to  preserve 
my  life  and  my  hands,  which  are  so  needful  for 
poor  people  to  gain  their  bread. 


xni 

lighted  our  fires  on  the  hill  before  Gross 
Gorschen  and  a  detachment  descended  to  the  vil- 
lage and  brought  back  five  or  six  old  cows  to  make 
soup  of.  But  we  were  so  worn  out  that  many  would 
rather  sleep  than  eat.  Other  regiments  arrived  with 
cannon  and  munitions.  About  eleven  o'clock  there 
were  from  ten  to  twelve  thousand  men  there  and 
two  thousand  and  more  in  the  village — all  Souham's 
division.  The  general  and  his  ordnance  officers  were 
quartered  in  an  old  mill  to  the  left,  near  a  stream 
called  Floss-Graben.  The  line  of  sentries  were 
stretched  along  the  base  of  the  hill  a  musket-shot  off. 

At  length  I  fell  asleep,  but  I  awoke  every  hour, 
and  behind  us,  toward  the  road  leading  from  the 
old  bridge  of  Poserna  to  Lutzen  and  Leipzig,  I 
heard  the  rolling  of  wagons,  of  artillery  and  caissons, 
rising  and  falling  through  the  silence. 

Sergeant  Pinto  did  not  sleep;  he  sat  smoking 
his  pipe  and  drying  his  feet  at  the  fire.  Every  time 
one  of  us  moved,  he  would  try  to  talk  and  say: 

"Well,  conscript?"  - 

140 


THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT  141. 

But  they  pretended  not  to  hear  him,  and  turned 
over,  gaping,  to  sleep  again. 

The  clock  of  Gross-Gorschen  was  striking  six 
when  I  awoke.  I  was  sore  and  weary  yet.  Never- 
theless, I  sat  up  and  tried  to  warm  myself,  for  I 
was  very  cold.  The  fires  were  smoking,  and  almost 
extinguished.  Nothing  of  them  remained  but  the 
ashes  and  a  few  embers.  The  sergeant,  erect,  was 
gazing  over  the  vast  plain  where  the  sun  shot  a 
few  long  lines  of  gold,  and,  seeing  me  awake,  put 
a  coal  in  his  pipe  and  said : 

"  Well,  fusilier  Bertha,  we  are  now  in  the  rear- 
guard." 

I  did  not  know  what  he  meant. 

"  That  astonishes  you,"  he  continued ;  "  but  we 
have  not  stirred,  while  the  army  has  made  a  half- 
wheel.  Yesterday  it  was  before  us  in  the  Rippach ; 
now  it  is  behind  us,  near  Lutzen;  and,  instead  of 
being  in  the  front  we  are  in  rear;  so  that  now," 
said  he,  closing  an  eye  and  drawing  two  long  puffs 
of  his  pipe,  "  we  are  the  last,  instead  of  the  fore- 
most." 

"  And  what  do  we  gain  by  it  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  We  gain  the  honor  of  first  reaching  Leipzig, 
and  falling  on  the  Prussians,"  he  replied.  "  You 
will  understand  this  by  and  by,  conscript." 

I  stood  up,  and  looked  around.    I  saw  before  us 


I42          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

a  wide,  marshy  plain,  traversed  by  the  Gruna-Bach 
and  the  Floss-Graben.  A  few  hills  arose  along  these 
streams,  and  beyond  ran  a  large  river,  which  the 
sergeant  told  me  was  the  Elster.  The  morning  mist 
hung  over  all. 

Turning  around,  I  saw  behind  us  in  the  valley 
the  point  of  the  clock-tower  of  Gross-Gorschen,  and 
farther  on,  to  the  right  and  left,  five  or  six  little 
villages  built  in  the  hollows  between  the  hills,  for 
it  is  a  country  of  hills,  and  the  villages  of  Kaya, 
Eisdorf,  Starsiedel,  Rahna,  Klein-Gorschen  and 
Gross-Gorschen,  which  I  knew  before,  are  between 
them,  on  the  borders  of  little  lakes,  where  poplars, 
willows  and  aspens  grow.  Gross-Gorschen,  where 
we  bivouacked,  was  farthest  advanced  in  the  plain, 
toward  the  Elster  ;  Kaya  was  farthest  off,  and  be- 
hind it  passed  the  high-road  from  Lutzen  to  Leipzig. 
We  saw  no  fires  on  the  hills  save  those  of  our  di- 
vision; but  the  entire  corps  occupied  the  villages 
scattered  in  our  rear,  and  head-quarters  were  at 
Kaya. 

*  At  seven  o'clock  the  drums  and  the  trumpets  of 
the  artillery  sounded  the  reveille.  We  went  down 
to  the  village,  some  to  look  for  wood,  others  for 
straw  or  hay.  Ammunition-wagons  came  up,  and 
bread  and  cartridges  were  distributed.  There  we 
were  to  remain,  to  let  the  army  march  by  upon  Leip- 


THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT  143 

zig;  this  was  why  Sergeant  Pinto  said  we  would 
be  in  the  rear-guard. 

Two  cantinieres  arrived  from  the  village;  and, 
as  I  had  yet  a  few  crowns  remaining,  I  offered  Klip- 
fel  and  Zebede  a  glass  of  brandy  each,  to  counteract 
the  effects  of  the  fogs  of  the  night.  I  also  presumed 
to  offer  one  to  Sergeant  Pinto,  who  accepted  it,  say- 
ing that  bread  and  brandy  warmed  the  heart. 

We  felt  quite  happy,  and  no  one  suspected  the 
horrors  the  day  was  to  bring  forth.  "We  thought 
the  Russians  and  the  Prussians  were  seeking  us  be- 
hind the  Gruna-Bach;  but  they  knew  well  where 
we  were.  And  suddenly,  about  ten  o'clock,  General 
Souham,  mounted,  arrived  with  his  officers.  I  was 
sentry  near  the  stacks  of  arms,  and  I  think  I  can  now 
see  him,  as  he  rode  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  with  his 
gray  hair  and  white-bordered  hat;  and  as  he  took 
out  his  field-glass,  and,  after  an  earnest  gaze,  re- 
turned quickly,  and  ordered  the  drums  to  beat  the 
recall.  The  sentries  at  once  fell  into  the  ranks,  and 
Zebede,  who  had  the  eyes  of  a  falcon,  said: 

"  I  see  yonder,  near  the  Elster,  masses  of  men 
forming  and  advancing  in  good  order,  and  others 
coming  from  the  marshes  by  the  three  bridges.  We 
are  lost  if  all  those  fall  upon  our  rear!  " 

"  A  battle  is  beginning,"  said  Sergeant  Pinto, 
shading  his  eyes  with  his  hands,  "  or  I  know  nothing 


I44          THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

of  war.  Those  beggarly  Prussians  and  Russians 
want  to  take  us  on  the  flank  with  their  whole  force, 
as  we  defile  on  Leipzig,  so  as  to  cut  us  in  two.  It 
is  well  thought  of  on  their  part.  We  are  always 
teaching  them  the  art  of  war." 

"  But  what  will  we  do?  "  asked  Klipfel. 

"  Our  part  is  simple,"  answered  the  sergeant. 
"  We  are  here  twelve  to  fifteen  thousand  men,  with 
old  Souham,  who  never  gave  an  enemy  an  inch. 
We  will  stand  here  like  a  wall,  one  to  six  or  seven, 
until  the  Emperor  is  informed  how  matters  stand, 
and  sends  us  aid.  There  go  the  staff  officers  now." 

It  was  true;  five  or  six  officers  were  galloping 
over  the  plain  of  Lutzen  toward  Leipzig.  They 
sped  like  the  wind,  and  I  prayed  to  God  to  have 
them  reach  the  Emperor  in  time  to  send  the  whole 
army  to  our  assistance;  for  there  was  something 
horrible  in  the  certainty  that  we  were  about  to  per- 
ish, and  I  would  not  wish  my  greatest  enemy  in  such 
a  position  as  ours  was  then. 

Sergeant  Pinto  continued  : 

"  You  will  have  a  chance  now,  conscripts;  and 
if  any  of  you  come  out  alive,  they  will  have  some- 
thing to  boast  of.  Look  at  those  blue  lines  ad- 
vancing, with  their  muskets  on  their  shoulders, 
along  Floss-Graben.  Each  of  those  lines  is  a  regi- 
ment There  are  thirty  of  them.  That  makes  sixty 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT  145 

thousand  Prussians,  without  counting  those  lines  of 
horsemen,  each  of  which  is  a  squadron.  Those  ad- 
vancing to  their  left,  near  Rippach,  glittering  in  the 
sun,  are  the  dragoons  and  cuirassiers  of  the  Russian 
Imperial  Guard.  There  are  eighteen  or  twenty 
thousand  of  them,  and  I  first  saw  them  at  Auster- 
litz,  where  we  fixed  them  finely.  Those  masses  of 
lances  in  the  rear  are  Cossacks.  We  will  have  a 
hundred  thousand  men  on  our  hands  in  an  hour. 
This  is  a  fight  to  win  the  cross  in,  and  if  one  does 
not  get  it  now  he  can  never  hope  to  do  so !  " 

"  Do  you  think  so,  sergeant?  "  said  Zebede,  whose 
ideas  were  never  very  clear,  and  who  already  im- 
agined he  held  the  cross  in  his  fingers,  while  his 
eyes  glittered  with  excitement. 

"  It  will  be  hand  to  hand,"  replied  the  sergeant; 
"  and  suppose  that  in  the  melee,  you  see  a  colonel 
or  a  flag  near  you,  spring  on  him  or  it ;  never  mind 
sabres  or  bayonets ;  seize  them,  and  then  your  name 
goes  on  the  list." 

As  he  spoke,  I  remembered  that  the  Mayor  of 
Phalsbourg  had  received  the  cross  for  having  gone 
to  meet  the  Empress  Marie  Louise  in  carriages  gar- 
landed with  flowers,  singing  old  songs,  and  I 
thought  his  method  much  preferable  to  that  of  Ser- 
geant Pinto. 

But  I  had  not  time  to  think  more,  for  the  drums 


146          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

beat  on  all  sides,  and  each  one  ran  to  where  the  arm? 
of  his  company  were  stacked  and  seized  his  musket. 
Our  officers  formed  us,  great  guns  came  at  a  gallop 
from  the  village,  and  were  posted  on  the  brow  of 
the  hill  a  little  to  the  rear,  so  that  the  slope  served 
them  as  a  species  of  redoubt.  Farther  away,  in  the 
villages  of  Rahna,  of  Kaya,  and  of  Klein-Gorschen, 
all  was  motion,  but  we  were  the  first  the  Prussians 
would  fall  upon. 

The  enemy  halted  about  twice  a  cannon-shot  off, 
and  the  cavalry  swarmed  by  hundreds  up  the  hill 
to  reconnoitre  us.  I  was  in  utter  despair  as  I  gazed 
on  their  immense  masses  swarming  on  both  sides  of 
the  river,  the  advanced  lines  of  which  were  already 
beginning  to  form  in  columns,  and  I  said  to  myself, 
"  This  time,  Joseph,  all  is  over,  all  is  lost;  there  is 
no  help  for  it ;  all  you  can  do  is  to  revenge  yourself, 
defend  yourself,  to  fight  pitilessly,  and  die." 

"While  these  thoughts  were  passing  through  my 
head,  General  Chemineau  galloped  along  our  front, 
crying: 

"  Form  square." 

The  officers  on  the  right,  on  the  left,  in  advance, 
in  the  rear,  took  up  the  word  and  it  passed  from 
right  to  left;  four  squares  of  four  battalions  each 
were  formed.  I  found  myself  in  the  third,  on  one 
of  the  interior  sides,  a  circumstance  which  in  some 


THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT  147 

degree  reassured  me;  for  I  thought  that  the  Prus- 
sians, who  were  advancing  in  three  columns,  would 
first  attack  those  directly  opposite  them.  But 
scarcely  had  the  thought  struck  me  when  a  hail  of 
cannon-shot  from  the  guns  which  the  Prussians  had 
massed  on  a  hill  to  the  left,  swept  through  us  just 
as  at  "Weissenf els ;  and  that  was  not  all.  They  had 
thirty  pieces  of  artillery  playing  upon  us.  One  can 
imagine  from  this  what  gaps  they  made.  The  balls 
shrieked  sometimes  over  our  heads,  sometimes 
through  the  ranks,  and  then  again  struck  the  earth, 
which  they  scattered  over  us. 

Our  heavy  guns  replied  to  their  fire  with  a  vigor 
which  kept  us  from  hearing  one  half  the  hissing  and 
roaring  of  theirs,  but  could  not  silence  it,  and  the 
horrible  cry  of  "Close  up  the  ranks!  Close  up 
the  ranks!  "  was  ever  sounding  in  our  ears. 

We  were  enveloped  in  smoke  without  having 
fired  a  shot,  and  I  said  to  myself,  "  if  we  stay  here 
another  quarter  of  an  hour  we  shall  all  be  massacred 
without  having  a  chance  to  defend  ourselves,"  which 
seemed  to  me  fearful,  when  the  head  of  the  Prus- 
sian columns  appeared  between  the  hills,  moving 
forward  with  a  deep,  hoarse  murmur,  like  the  noise 
of  an  inundation.  Then  the  three  first  sides  of  our 
square,  the  second  and  the  third  obliquing  to  the 
right  and  left  fired.  God  only  knows  how  many 


148          THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

Prussians  fell.  But  instead  of  stopping  they  rushed 
on,  shouting  like  wolves,  "  Vaterland!  Vater- 
land!  "  and  we  fired  again  into  their  very  bosoms. 

Then  began  the  work  of  death  in  earnest.  Bay- 
onet-thrust, sabre-stroke,  blows  from  the  butt-end 
of  our  pieces,  crashed  on  all  sides.  They  tried  to 
crush  us  by  mere  weight  of  numbers,  and  came  on 
like  furious  bulls.  A  battalion  rushed  upon  us, 
thrusting  with  their  bayonets;  we  returned  their 
blows  without  leaving  the  ranks,  and  they  were 
swept  away  almost  to  a  man  by  two  cannon  which 
were  in  position  fifty  paces  in  our  rear. 

They  were  the  last  who  tried  to  break  our 
squares.  They  turned  and  fled  down  the  hill-side, 
and  we  were  loading  our  guns  to  kill  every  man 
of  them,  when  their  pieces  again  opened  fire,  and 
we  heard  a  great  noise  on  our  right.  It  was  their 
cavalry  charging  under  cover  of  their  fire.  I  could 
not  see  the  fight,  for  it  was  at  the  other  end  of  the 
division,  but  their  heavy  guns  swept  us  off  by  dozens 
as  we  stood  inactive.  General  Chemineau  had  his 
thigh  broken;  we  could  not  hold  out  much  longer 
when  the  order  was  given  to  retreat,  which  we  did 
with  a  pleasure  easily  understood! 

We  retired  to  Gross-Gorschen,  pursued  by  the 
Prussians,  both  sides  maintaining  a  constant  fire. 
The  two  thousand  men  in  the  village  checked  the 


THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT 


149 


enemy  while  we  ascended  the  opposite  slope  to  gain 
Klein-Gorschen.  But  the  Prussian  cavalry  came 
on  once  more  to  cut  off  our  retreat  and  keep  us  un- 
der the  fire  of  their  artillery.  Then  my  blood  boiled 
with  anger,  and  I  heard  Zebede  cry,  "  Let  us  fight 
our  way  to  the  top  rather  than  remain  here!  " 

To  do  this  was  fearfully  dangerous,  for  their  regi- 
ments of  hussars  and  chasseurs  advanced  in  good 
order  to  charge.  Still  we  kept  retreating,  when  a 
voice  on  the  top  of  the  ridge  cried:  "  Halt!  "  and 
at  the  same  moment  the  hussars,  who  were  already 
rushing  down  upon  us,  received  a  terrific  discharge 
of  case  and  grape-shot,  which  swept  them  down  by 
hundreds.  It  was  Girard's  division,  who  had  come 
to  our  assistance  from  Klein-Gorschen  and  had 
placed  sixteen  pieces  in  position  to  open  upon  them. 
The  hussars  fled  faster  than  they  came,  and  the 
six  squares  of  Girard's  division  united  with  ours  at 
Klein-Gorschen,  to  check  the  Prussian  infantry, 
which  still  continued  to  advance,  the  three  first  col- 
umns in  front  and  three  others,  equally  strong, 
supporting  them. 

We  had  lost  Gross-Gorschen,  but  now,  between 
Klein-Gorschen  and  Rahna  the  battle  raged  more 
fiercely  than  ever. 

I  thought  now  of  nothing  but  vengeance.  I  was 
wild  with  excitement  and  wrath  against  those  who 


I5o          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

sought  to  kill  me.  I  felt  a  sort  of  hatred  against 
those  Prussians  whose  shouts  and  insolent  manner 
disgusted  me.  I  was,  nevertheless,  very  glad  to  see 
Zebede  near  me  yet,  and  as  we  stood  awaiting  new 
attacks,  with  our  arms  resting  on  the  ground,  I 
pressed  his  hand. 

"  We  have  escaped  narrowly  enough,"  said  he. 
"  God  grant  the  Emperor  may  soon  arrive,  and  with 
cannon,  for  they  are  twenty  times  stronger  than 
we." 

He  no  longer  spoke  of  winning  the  cross. 

I  looked  around  to  see  if  the  sergeant  was  with 
us  yet,  and  saw  him  calmly  wiping  his  bayonet; 
not  a  feature  showed  any  trace  of  excitement — 
that  encouraged  me.  I  would  have  wished  to  know 
if  Klipfel  and  Furst  were  unhurt,  but  the  command, 
"  Carry  arms!  "  made  me  think  of  myself. 

The  three  first  columns  of  the  enemy  had  halted 
on  the  hill  of  Gross-Gorschen  to  await  their  sup- 
ports. The  village  in  the  valley  between  us  was 
on  fire,  the  flames  bursting  from  the  thatched  roofs 
and  the  smoke  rising  to  the  sky,  and  to  the  left 
across  the  ploughed  field  we  saw  a  long  line  of  can- 
non coming  down  to  open  upon  us. 

It  might  have  been  mid-day  when  the  six  col- 
umns began  their  march  and  deployed  masses  of 
hussars  and  cavalry  on  both  sides  of  Gross-Gorschen. 


THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT          151 

Our  artillery,  placed  behind  the  squares  on  the  top 
of  the  ridge,  opened  a  terrible  fire  on  the  Prussian 
gunners,  who  replied  all  along  their  line. 

Our  drums  began  to  beat  in  the  squares  to  give 
warning  that  the  enemy  were  approaching,  but  then- 
rattle  was  like  the  buzz  of  a  fly  in  the  storm,  while 
in  the  valley  the  Prussians  shouted  all  together, 
"  Vaterland!  Vutcrland!" 

Their  fire  by  battalion,  as  they  climbed  the  hill, 
enveloped  us  in  smoke — as  the  wind  blew  toward 
us — and  hindered  us  from  seeing  them.  Neverthe- 
less, we  began  our  file-firing.  We  heard  and  saw 
nothing  but  the  noise  and  smoke  of  battle  for  the 
next  quarter  of  an  hour,  when  suddenly  the  Prus- 
sian hussars  were  in  our  square.  I  know  not  how 
it  happened,  but  there  they  were  on  their  little 
horses,  sabring  us  without  mercy.  We  fought  with 
our  bayonets;  we  shouted;  they  slashed,  and  fired 
their  pistols.  The  carnage  was  horrible.  Zebede, 
Sergeant  Pinto,  and  some  twenty  of  the  company 
held  together.  I  shall  see  all  my  life  long  the  pale- 
faced,  long-mustached  bassars,  the  straps  of  their 
shakos  tight  under  their  jaws,  whose  horses  reared 
and  neighed  as  they  dashed  over  the  heaps  of  dead 
and  wounded.  I  remember  the  cries,  French  and 
German  in  a  horrid  mixture,  that  arose;  how  they 
called  us  "  Schweinpelz"  and  how  old  Pinto  never 


152          THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT 

ceased  to  cry,  "  Strike  bravely,  my  boys;  strike 
bravely!  " 

I  never  knew  how  we  escaped ;  we  ran  at  random 
through  the  smoke,  and  dashed  through  the  midst 
of  sabres  and  flying  bullets.  I  only  remember  that 
Zebede  every  moment  cried  out  to  me,  "  Come  on! 
come  on!  "  and  that  at  last  we  found  ourselves  on 
a  hill-side  behind  a  square  which  yet  held  firm,  with 
Sergeant  Pinto  and  seven  or  eight  others  of  the 
company. 

We  were  covered  with  blood,  and  looked  like 
butchers. 

"  Load!  "  cried  the  sergeant. 

Then  I  saw  blood  and  hair  on  my  bayonet,  and 
I  knew  that  in  my  fury  I  must  have  given  some 
terrible  blows.  In  a  moment  old  Pinto  said,  "  The 
regiment  is  totally  routed;  the  beggarly  Prussians 
have  sabred  half  of  it;  we  shall  find  the  remainder 
by  and  by.  Now,"  he  cried,  "  we  must  keep  the 
enemy  out  of  the  village.  By  file,  left!  March!  " 

We  descended  a  little  stairway  which  led  to  one 
of  the  gardens  of  Klein-Gorschen,  and  entering  a 
house,  the  sergeant  barricaded  the  door  leading  to 
the  fields  with  a  heavy  kitchen  table;  then  he 
showed  us  the  door  opening  on  the  street,  telling  us, 
"  Here  is  our  way  of  retreat."  This  done,  we  went 
to  the  floor  above,  and  found  a  pretty  large  room, 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT          153 

with  two  windows  looking  out  upon  the  village, 
and  two  upon  the  hill,  which  was  still  covered  with 
smoke  and  resounding  with  the  crash  of  musketry 
and  artillery.  At  one  end  in  an  alcove  was  a  broken 
bedstead,  and  near  it  a  cradle.  The  people  of  the 
house  had  no  doubt  fled  at  the  beginning  of  the 
battle,  but  a  dog,  with  ears  erect  and  flashing  eyes, 
glared  at  us  from  beneath  the  curtains.  All  this 
comes  back  to  me  like  a  dream. 

The  sergeant  opened  the  window  and  fired  at 
two  or  three  Prussian  hussars  who  were  already 
advancing  down  the  street.  Zebede  and  the  others 
standing  behind  him  stood  ready.  I  looked  toward 
the  hill  to  see  if  the  squares  had  yet  remained  un- 
broken, and  I  saw  them  retreating  in  good  order, 
firing  as  they  went  from  all  four  sides  on  the  masses 
of  cavalry  which  surrounded  them  completely. 
Through  the  smoke  I  could  perceive  the  colonel 
on  horseback,  sabre  in  hand,  and  by  him  the  colors, 
so  torn  by  shot  that  they  were  mere  rags  hanging 
on  the  staff. 

Beyond,  on  the  left,  a  column  of  the  enemy  were 
debouching  from  the  road  and  marching  on  Klein- 
Gorschen.  This  column  evidently  designed  cutting 
off  our  retreat  on  the  village,  but  hundreds  of  dis- 
banded soldiers  like  us  had  arrived,  and  were  pour- 
ing in  from  all  sides,  some  turning  ever  and  anon 


I54          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

to  fire,  others  wounded,  trying  to  crawl  to  some 
place  of  shelter.  They  took  possession  of  the  houses, 
and,  as  the  column  approached,  musketry  rattled 
upon  them  from  all  the  windows.  This  checked 
the  enemy,  and  at  the  same  moment  the  divisions 
of  Brenier  and  Marchand,  which  the  Prince  of  Mos- 
kowa  had  despatched  to  our  assistance,  began  to  de- 
ploy to  the  right.  We  heard  afterward  that  Mar- 
shal Xey  had  followed  the  Emperor  in  the  direction 
of  Leipzig  and  came  back  on  hearing  the  sound  of 
cannon. 

The  Prussians  halted,  and  the  firing  ceased  on 
both  sides.  Our  squares  and  columns  began  to 
climb  the  hills  again,  opposite  Starsiedel,  and  the 
defenders  of  the  village  rushed  from  the  houses 
to  join  their  regiments.  Ours  had  become  mingled 
with  two  or  three  others;  and,  when  the  reinforc- 
ing divisions  halted  before  Kaya,  we  could  scarcely 
find  our  places.  The  roll  was  called,  and  of  our 
company  but  forty-two  men  remained;  Furst  and 
Leger  were  dead,  but  Zebede,  Klipfel,  and  I  were 
unhurt. 

But,  unluckily,  the  battle  was  not  yet  over,  for 
the  Prussians,  flushed  with  victory,  were  already 
making  their  dispositions  to  attack  us  at  Kaya;  re- 
inforcements were  hurrying  to  them,  and  it  seemed 
that,  for  so  great  a  general,  the  Emperor  had  made 


THE    STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT  155 

a  gross  blunder  in  stretching  his  lines  to  Leipzig, 
and  leaving  us  to  be  overpowered  by  an  army  of 
over  a  hundred  thousand  men. 

As  we  were  re-forming  behind  Brenier's  division, 
eighteen  thousand  veterans  of  the  Prussian  guard 
charged  up  the  hill,  carrying  the  shakos  of  our  killed 
on  their  bayonets  in  token  of  victory.  Once  more 
the  fight  began,  the  mass  of  Russian  cavalry,  which 
we  had  seen  glittering  in  the  sun  in  the  morning, 
came  down  on  our  flank, — on  the  left,  between 
Klein-Gorschen  and  Starsiedel,  —  but  the  Sixth 
corps  had  arrived  in  time  to  cover  it,  and  stood  the 
shock  like  a  castle  wall.  Once  more  shouts,  groans, 
the  clashing  of  sabre  against  bayonet,  the  crash  of 
musketry  and  thunder  of  cannon  shook  the  sky, 
while  the  plain  was  hidden  in  a  cloud  of  smoke, 
through  which  we  could  see  the  glitter  of  helmets, 
cuirasses,  and  thousands  of  lances. 

"We  were  retiring,  when  something  passed  along 
our  front  like  a  flash  of  lightning.  It  was  Marshal 
JSTey  surrounded  by  his  staff.  I  never  saw  such 
a  countenance;  his  eyes  sparkled  and  his  lips  trem- 
bled with  rage.  In  a  second's  time  he  had  dashed 
along  the  lines,  and  drew  up  in  front  of  our  col- 
umns. The  retreat  stopped  at  once;  he  called  us 
on,  and,  as  if  led  by  a  kind  of  fascination,  we  dashed 
on  to  meet  the  Prussians,  cheering  like  madmen  as 


156          THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

we  went.  But  the  Prussian  line  stood  firm;  they 
fought  hard  to  keep  the  victory  they  had  won,  and 
besides  were  constantly  receiving  reinforcements, 
while  we  were  worn  out  with  five  hours'  fighting. 

Our  battalion  was  now  in  the  second  line,  and 
the  enemy's  shot  passed  over  our  heads;  but  a  hor- 
rible din  made  my  flesh  creep;  it  was  the  rattling 
of  the  grape-shot  among  the  bayonets. 

In  the  midst  of  shouts,  orders,  and  the  whistling 
of  bullets,  we  again  began  to  fall  back  over  heaps 
of  dead;  our  first  division  re-entered  Klein-Gor- 
schen,  and  once  more  the  fight  was  hand  to  hand. 
In  the  main  street  of  the  village  nothing  was  seen 
or  heard  but  shots  and  blows,  and  generals,  mount- 
ed, fought  sword  in  hand  like  private  soldiers. 

This  lasted  some  minutes;  we  in  the  ranks,  said, 
"  all  is  well,  all  is  well,  now  we  are  advancing;  "  but 
again  they  were  reinforced,  and  we  were  obliged  to 
continue  our  retreat,  and  unhappily  in  such  haste 
that  many  did  not  stop  until  they  reached  Kaya. 
This  village  was  on  the  ridge  and  the  last  before 
reaching  Lutzen.  It  is  a  long,  narrow  lane  of  houses, 
separated  from  each  other  by  little  gardens,  stables 
and  bee-hives.  If  the  enemy  forced  us  to  Kaya,  our 
army  was  cut  in  two.  I  recalled  the  words  of  M. 
Goulden — "  If  unluckily  the  allies  get  the  best  of 
us,  they  will  revenge  themselves  on  us  in  our  own 


THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT 


157 


country  for  all  we  have  been  doing  to  them  the 
last  ten  years."  The  battle  seemed  irretrievably 
lost,  for  Marshal  -^ey  himself,  in  the  centre  of  a 
square,  was  retreating;  and  many  soldiers,  to  get 
away  from  the  melee,  were  carrying  off  wounded 
officers  on  their  muskets.  Everything  looked 
gloomy,  indeed. 

I  entered  Kaya  on  the  right  of  the  village,  leap- 
ing over  hedges,  and  creeping  under  the  fences 
which  separated  the  gardens,  and  was  turning  the 
corner  of  a  street,  when  I  saw  some  fifty  officers 
on  the  brow  of  a  hill  before  me,  and  behind  them 
masses  of  artillery  galloping  at  full  speed  along  the 
Leipzig  road.  Then  I  saw  the  Emperor  himself,  a 
little  in  advance  of  the  others  ;  he  was  seated, 
as  if  in  an  arm-chair,  on  his  white  horse,  and  I 
could  see  him  well,  beneath  the  clear  sky,  motion- 
less and  looking  at  the  battle  through  his  field- 
glass. 

My  heart  beat  gladly;  I  cried  "  Vive  VEmpe- 
reur !  "  with  all  my  strength,  and  rushed  along  the 
main  street  of  Kaya.  I  was  one  of  the  first  to 
enter,  and  I  saw  the  inhabitants  of  the  village,  men, 
women,  and  children,  hastening  to  the  cellars  for 
protection. 

Many  to  whom  I  have  related  the  foregoing  have 
sneered  at  me  for  running  so  fast;  but  I  can  only 


158          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

reply  that  when  Michel  Ney  retreated,  it  was  high 
time  for  Joseph  Bertha  to  do  so  too. 

Klipfel,  Zebede,  Sergeant  Pinto,  and  the  others 
of  the  company  had  not  yet  arrived  when  masses 
of  black  smoke  arose  above  the  roofs;  shattered 
tiles  fell  into  the  streets,  and  shot  buried  themselves 
in  the  walls,  or  crashed  through  the  beams  with  a 
horrible  noise. 

At  the  same  time,  our  soldiers  rushed  in  through 
the  lanes,  over  the  hedges  and  fences,  turning  from 
time  to  time  to  fire  on  the  enemy.  Men  of  all 
arms  were  mingled,  some  without  shakos  or  knap- 
sacks, their  clothes  torn  and  covered  with  blood; 
but  they  retreated  furiously,  and  were  nearly  all 
mere  children,  boys  of  fifteen  or  twenty;  but  cour- 
age is  inborn  in  the  French  people. 

The  Prussians — led  by  old  officers  who  shouted 
"  Forwdrts  !  Fortcdrts  !  " — followed  like  packs  of 
wolves,  but  we  turned  and  opened  fire  from  the 
hedges,  and  fences,  and  houses.  How  many  of  them 
bit  the  dust  I  know  not,  but  others  always  supplied 
the  places  of  those  who  fell.  Hundreds  of  balls 
whistled  by  our  ears  and  flattened  themselves  on 
the  stone  walls;  the  plaster  was  broken  from  the 
walls,  and  the  thatch  hung  from  the  rafters,  and 
as  I  turned  for  the  twentieth  time  to  fire,  my  musket 
dropped  from  my  hand;  I  stooped  to  lift  it,  but 


THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT          159 

I  fell  too :  I  had  received  a  shot  in  the  left  shoulder 
and  the  blood  ran  like  warm  water  down  ray  breast. 
I  tried  to  rise,  but  all  that  I  could  do  was  to  seat 
myself  against  the  wall  while  the  blood  continued 
to  run  down  even  to  my  thighs,  and  I  shuddered 
at  the  thought  that  I  was  to  die  there. 

Still  the  fight  went  on. 

.Fearful  that  another  bullet  might  reach  me,  I 
crawled  to  the  corner  of  a  house,  and  fell  into  a 
little  trench  which  brought  water  from  the  street 
to  the  garden.  My  left  arm  was  heavy  as  lead; 
my  head  swam;  I  still  heard  the  firing,  but  it 
seemed  a  dream,  and  I  closed  my  eyes. 

When  I  again  opened  them,  night  was  coming 
on,  and  the  Prussians  filled  the  village.  In  the  gar- 
den, before  me,  was  an  old  general,  with  white  hair, 
on  a  tall  brown  horse.  He  shouted  in  a  trumpet- 
like  voice  to  bring  on  the  cannon,  and  officers  hur- 
ried away  with  his  orders.  Near  him,  standing  on 
a  little  wall,  two  surgeons  were  bandaging  his  arm. 
Behind,  on  the  other  side,  was  a  little  Russian  offi- 
cer, whose  plume  of  green  feathers  almost  covered 
his  hat.  I  saw  all  this  at  a  glance — the  old  man 
with  his  large  nose  and  broad  forehead,  his  quick 
glancing  eyes,  and  bold  air;  the  others  around  him; 
the  surgeon,  a  little  bald  man  with  spectacles,  and 
five  or  six  hundred  paces  away,  between  two  houses, 
our  soldiers  re-forming. 


160          THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

The  firing  had  ceased,  but  between  Klein-Gor- 
schen  and  Kaya  terrible  cries  arose,  and  I  could 
hear  the  heavy  rumbling  of  artillery,  neighing  of 
horses,  cries  and  shouts  of  drivers,  and  cracking  of 
whips.  Without  knowing  why,  I  dragged  myself 
to  the  wall,  and  scarcely  had  I  done  so,  when  two 
sixteen  pounders,  each  drawn  by  six  horses,  turned 
the  corner  of  the  street.  The  artillery-men  beat  the 
horses  with  all  their  strength,  and  the  wheels  rolled 
over  the  heaps  of  dead  and  wrounded  as  if  they  were 
going  over  straw.  Now  I  knew  whence  came  the 
cries  I  had  heard,  and  my  hair  stood  on  end  with 
horror. 

"  Here!  "  cried  the  old  man  in  German;  "  aim 
yonder,  between  those  two  houses  near  the  foun- 
tain." 

The  two  guns  were  turned  at  once ;  the  old  man, 
his  left  arm  in  a  sling,  cantered  up  the  street,  and 
I  heard  him  say,  in  short,  quick  tones,  to  the  young 
officer  as  he  passed  where  I  lay: 

"  Tell  the  Emperor  Alexander  that  I  am  at  Kaya. 
The  battle  is  won  if  I  am  reinforced.  Let  them  not 
discuss  the  matter,  but  send  help  at  once.  Napoleon 
is  coming,  and  in  half  an  hour  we  will  have  him 
upon  us  with  his  Guard.  I  will  stand,  let  it  cost 
what  it  may.  But  in  God's  name  do  not  lose  a 
minute,  and  the  victory  is  ours!  " 


THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT          161 

The,  young  man  set  off  at  a  gallop,  and  at  the 
same  moment  a  voice  near  me  whispered: 

"  That  old  wretch  is  Bliicher.  Ah,  scoundrel ! 
if  I  only  had  my  gun !  " 

Turning  my  head,  I  saw  an  old  sergeant,  with- 
ered and  thin,  with  long  wrinkles  in  his  cheeks, 
sitting  against  the  door  of  the  house,  supporting 
himself  with  his  hands  on  the  ground,  as  with  a 
pair  of  crutches,  for  a  ball  had  passed  through  him 
from  side  to  side.  His  yellow  eyes  followed  the 
Prussian  general;  his  hooked  nose  seemed  to  droop 
like  the  beak  of  an  eagle  over  his  thick  mustache, 
and  his  look  was  fierce  and  proud. 

"  If  I  had  my  musket,"  he  repeated,  "  I  would 
show  you  whether  the  battle  is  won." 

We  were  the  only  two  living  beings  among  heaps 
of  dead. 

I  thought  that  perhaps  I  should  be  buried  in  the 
morning  with  the  others,  in  the  garden  opposite  us, 
and  that  I  would  never  again  see  Catharine;  the 
tears  ran  down  my  cheeks,  and  I  could  not  help 
murmuring : 

"  ISTow  all  is  indeed  ended !  " 

The  sergeant  gazed  at  me  and,  seeing  that  I  was 
yet  so  young,  said  kindly: 

"  "What  is  the  matter  with  you,  conscript? " 

"  A  ball  in  the  shoulder,  won  sergeant" 
ii 


162          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

"In  the  shoulder!  That  is  better  than  one 
through  the  body.  You  will  get  over  it." 

And  after  a  moment's  thought  he  continued: 

"  Fear  nothing.     You  will  see  home  again !  " 

I  thought  that  he  pitied  my  youth  and  wished 
to  console  me;  but  my  chest  seemed  crushed,  and 
I  could  not  hope. 

The  sergeant  said  no  more,  only  from  time  to 
time  he  raised  his  head  to  see  if  our  columns  were 
coming.  He  swore  between  his  teeth  and  ended 
by  falling  at  length  upon  the  ground,  saying: 

"  My  business  is  done !  But  the  villain  has  paid 
for  it!" 

He  gazed  at  the  hedge  opposite,  where  a  Prus- 
sian grenadier  was  stretched,  cold  and  stiff,  the  old 
sergeant's  bayonet  yet  in  his  body. 

It  might  then  have  been  six  in  the  evening.  The 
enemy  filled  all  the  houses,  gardens,  orchards,  the 
main  streets  and  the  alleys.  I  was  cold  and  had 
dropped  my  head  forward  upon  my  knees,  when 
the  roll  of  artillery  called  me  again  to  my  senses. 
The  two  pieces  in  the  garden  and  many  others 
posted  behind  them  threw  their  broad  flashes 
through  the  darkness,  while  Russians  and  Prussians 
crowded  through  the  street.  But  all  this  was  as 
nothing  in  comparison  to  the  fire  of  the  French, 
from  the  hill  opposite  the  village,  while  the  constant 


EVERYTHING  GAVE   WAV   BEFOKB  HIM. 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT          163 

glare  showed  the  Young  Guard  coming  on  at  the 
double-quick,  generals  and  colonels  on  horseback  in 
the  midst  of  the  bayonets,  waving  their  swords  and 
cheering  them  on,  while  the  twenty-four  guns  the 
Emperor  had  sent  to  support  the  movement  thun- 
dered behind.  The  old  wall  against  which  I  leaned 
shook  to  its  foundations.  In  the  street  the  balls 
mowed  down  the  enemy  like  grass  before  the  scythe. 
It  was  their  turn  to  close  up  the  ranks. 

I  also  heard  the  enemy's  artillery  replying  be- 
hind us,  and  I  thought,  "  Heaven  grant  that  the 
French  win  the  day;  then  their  suffering  wounded 
will  be  taken  care  of,  instead  of  these  Prussians  and 
Cossacks  first  looking  after  their  own,  and  leaving 
us  all  to  perish." 

I  paid  no  further  attention  to  the  sergeant,  I  only 
looked  at  the  Prussian  gunners  loading  their  guns, 
aiming  and  firing  them,  cursing  them  all  the  time 
from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  but  all  the  time  lis- 
tening to  the  inspiring  shouts  of  "  Vive  VEmpe- 
reur!"  ringing  out  in  the  momentary  silence  be- 
tween the  reports  of  the  guns. 

In  about  twenty  minutes  the  Russians  and  Prus- 
sians were  forced  to  fall  back;  going  in  crowds  by 
the  narrow  passage  where  we  were;  the  shouts  of 
"  Vive  VEmpcreur ! "  grew  nearer  and  nearer. 
The  cannoneers  at  the  pieces  before  me  loaded  and 


164          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

fired  at  their  utmost  speed,  when  three  or  four 
grape-shots  fell  among  them  and  broke  the  wheel 
of  one  of  their  guns,  besides  killing  two  and  wound- 
ing another  of  their  men.  I  felt  a  hand  seize  my 
arm.  It  was  the  old  sergeant.  His  eyes  were  glaz- 
ing in  death,  but  he  laughed  scornfully  and  sav- 
agely. The  roof  of  our  shelter  fell  in;  the  walls 
bent,  but  we  cared  not,  we  only  saw  the  defeat  of 
the  enemy  and  heard  the  shouts  of  our  men  nearer 
and  nearer,  when  the  old  sergeant  gasped  in  my  ear : 

"Here  he  is!  " 

He  rose  to  his  knees,  supporting  himself  with 
one  hand,  while  with  the  other  he  waved  his  hat 
in  the  air,  and  cried  in  a  ringing  voice : 

"  Vive  VEmpereur  !  " 

Then  he  fell  on  his  face  to  the  earth  and  moved 
no  more. 

And  I,  raising  myself  too  from  the  ground,  saw 
Napoleon,  riding  calmly  through  the  hail  of  shot — 
his  hat  pulled  down  over  his  large  head — his  gray 
great-coat  open,  a  broad  red  ribbon  crossing  his 
white  vest — there  he  rode,  calm  and  imperturbable, 
his  face  lit  up  with  the  reflection  from  the  bayonets. 
None  stood  their  ground  before  him;  the  Prussian 
artillerymen  abandoned  their  pieces  and  sprang  over 
the  garden-hedge,  despite  the  cries  of  their  officers 
who  sought  to  keep  them  back. 


THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT          165 

All  this  I  saw — it  seems  graved  with  fire  on  my 
memory,  but  from  that  moment  I  can  remember  no 
more  of  the  battle,  for  in  that  certainty  of  victory  I 
lost  consciousness  and  fell  like  a  corpse  in  the  midst 
of  corpses. 


XIV 

WHEN  sense  returned  it  was  night  and  all  was 
silent  around.  Clouds  were  scudding  across  the 
sky,  and  the  moon  shone  down  upon  the  abandoned 
village,  the  broken  guns,  and  the  pale  upturned 
faces  of  the  dead,  as  calmly  as  for  ages  she  had 
looked  on  the  flowing  water,  the  waving  grass,  and 
the  rustling  leaves  which  fall  in  autumn.  M en  are 
but  insects  in  the  midst  of  creation  ;  lives  but  drops 
in  the  ocean  of  eternity,  and  none  so  truly  feel  their 
insignificance  as  the  dying. 

I  could  not  move  from  where  I  lay  in  the  intensest 
pain.  My  right  arm  alone  could  I  stir,  and  raising 
myself  with  difficulty  upon  my  elbow,  I  saw  the 
dead  heaped  along  the  street,  their  white  faces  shin- 
ing like  snow  in  the  moonlight.  The  mouths  and 
eyes  of  some  were  wide  open,  others  lay  on  their 
faces,  their  knapsacks  and  cartridge-boxes  on  their 
backs  and  their  hands  grasping  their  muskets.  The 
sight  thrilled  me  with  horror,  and  my  teeth  chat- 
tered. 

I  would  have  cried  for  help,  but  my  voice  was 
166 


THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT          167 

no  louder  than  that  of  a  sobbing  child.  But  my 
feeble  cry  awoke  others,  and  groans  and  shrieks  arose 
on  all  sides.  The  wounded  thought  succor  was 
coming,  and  all  who  could  cried  piteously.  These 
cries  lasted  some  time  ;  then  all  \vas  silent,  and  I 
only  heard  a  horse  neigh  painfully  on  the  other  side 
of  the  hedge.  The  poor  animal  tried  to  rise,  and  I 
saw  its  head  and  long  neck  appear  ;  then  it  fell 
again  to  the  earth. 

The  effort  I  made  reopened  my  wound,  and  again 
I  felt  the  blood  running  down  my  arm.  I  closed 
my  eyes  to  die,  and  the  scenes  of  my  early  child- 
hood, of  my  native  village,  the  face  of  my  poor 
mother  as  she  sang  me  to  sleep,  my  little  room,  with 
its  alcove,  our  old  dog  Pommer  with  whom  I  used 
to  play  and  roll  over  and  over  on  the  ground  ;  my 
father  as  he  came  home  gayly  in  the  evening, 
his  axe  on  his  shoulder,  and  took  me  up  in  his 
strong  arms  to  embrace  me — all  rose  dreamily  be- 
fore me. 

How  little  those  parents  thought  that  they  were 
rearing  their  boy  to  die  miserably  far  from  friends, 
and  home,  and  succor  !  How  great  would  have 
been  their  desolation — what  maledictions  would 
they  have  poured  on  those  who  reduced  him  to  such 
a  state  !  Ah  !  if  they  were  but  there  ! — if  I  could 
have  asked  their  forgiveness  for  all  the  pain  I  had 


168          THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

given  them  !  As  these  thoughts  rushed  over  me 
the  tears  rolled  down  my  cheeks  ;  my  heart  heaved: 
I  sobbed  like  a  child. 

Then  Catharine,  Aunt  Gredel,  and  Monsieur 
Goulden  passed  before  me.  I  saw  their  grief  and 
fear  when  the  news  of  the  battle  came.  Aunt  Gre- 
del running  to  the  post-office  every  day  to  learn 
something  of  me,  and  Catharine  prayerfully  await- 
ing her  return,  while  Monsieur  Goulden  read  in  the 
gazette  how  the  Third  corps  suffered  more  heavily 
than  the  others,  as  he  paced  the  room  with  drooping 
head  and  at  last  sat  dreamily  at  his  work-bench. 
My  heart  was  with  them  ;  it  followed  Aunt  Gredel 
to  the  post-office,  and  returned  with  her  all  sadly  to 
the  village,  and  there  it  saw  Catharine  in  her  despair- 
ing grief. 

Then  the  postman  Roedig  seemed  to  arrive  at 
Quatre- Vents.  He  opened  his  leathern  sack,  and 
handed  a  large  paper  to  Aunt  Gredel,  while  Cath- 
arine stood  pale  as  death  beside  her.  It  was  the 
official  notice  of  my  death  :  I  heard  Catharine's 
heart-rending  cries  as  she  fell  swooning  to  the 
ground,  and  Aunt  Gredel's  maledictions,  as,  with 
her  gray  hair  streaming  about  her  head,  she  cried 
that  justice  was  no  longer  to  be  found — that  it  were 
better  that  we  had  never  been  born,  since  even  God 
seemed  to  have  abandoned  us.  Good  Father  Gould- 


THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT  169 

en  came  to  console  them,  but  could  only  sob  too :  all 
wept  together  in  their  desolation,  crying  : 

"  Joseph  !  Poor,  poor  Joseph  !  " 

My  heart  seemed  bursting. 

The  thought  came  that  thirty  or  forty  thousand 
families  in  France,  in  Russia,  in  Germany,  were 
soon  to  receive  the  same  news — news  yet  more  ter- 
rible, for  many  of  the  wretches  stretched  on  the 
battle-field  had  father  and  mother,  and  this  was  hor- 
rible to  think  of — it  seemed  as  if  a  wail  from  all  hu- 
man kind  were  rising  from  earth  to  heaven. 

Then  I  remembered  those  poor  women  of  Phals- 
bourg,  praying  in  the  church  when  we  heard  of  the 
retreat  from  Russia,  and  I  understood  how  their 
hearts  were  torn.  I  thought  that  Catharine  would 
soon  go  there,  and  year  after  year  she  would  pray — 
thinking  of  me.  Yes — for  I  knew  we  had  loved 
each  other  from  childhood,  and  that  she  could  never 
forget  me,  and  tear  after  tear  coursed  down  my 
cheeks.  This  confidence  soothed  me  in  my  grief — 
the  certainty  that  she  would  preserve  her  love  for 
me  until  age  whitened  her  hair  ;  that  I  should  be 
ever  before  her  eyes,  and  that  she  would  never 
marry  another. 

Toward  morning  a  shower  began  to  fall,  and  the 
monotonous  dropping  on  the  roofs  alone  broke  the 
silence.  I  thought  of  the  good  God,  whose  power 


170          THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

and  mercy  are  limitless,  and  I  hoped  that  He  would 
pardon  my  sins  in  consideration  of  my  sufferings. 

The  rain  filled  the  little  trench  in  which  I  had 
been  lying.  From  time  to  time  a  wall  fell  in  the 
village,  and  the  cattle,  scared  away  by  the  battle, 
began  to  resume  confidence  and  return.  I  heard 
a  goat  bleat  in  a  neighboring  stable.  A  great  shep- 
herd's dog  wandered  fearfully  among  the  heaps  ol 
dead.  The  horse,  seeing  him,  neighed  in  terror — 
he  took  him  for  a  wolf — and  the  dog  fled. 

I  remember  all  these  details,  for,  when  we  are 
dying,  we  see  everything,  we  hear  everything,  for 
we  know  that  we  are  seeing  and  hearing  our  last. 

But  how  my  whole  frame  thrilled  with  joy  when, 
at  the  corner  of  the  street,  I  thought  I  heard  the 
sound  of  voices  !  How  eagerly  I  listened  !  And 
I  raised  myself  upon  my  elbow,  and  called  for  help. 
It  was  yet  night  ;  but  the  first  gray  streak  of  day 
was  becoming  visible  in  the  east,  and  afar  off, 
through  the  falling  rain,  I  saw  a  light  in  the  fields, 
now  coming  onward,  now  stopping.  I  saw  dark 
forms  bending  around  it.  They  were  only  confused 
shadows.  But  others  besides  me  saw  the  light;  for 
on  all  sides  arose  groans  and  plaintive  cries,  from 
voices  so  feeble  that  thev  seemed  like  those  of  chil- 
dren calling  their  mothers. 

What  is  this  life  to  which  we  attach  so  great  a 


THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT  171 

price?  This  miserable  existence,  so  full  of  pain  and 
suffering?  Why  do  we  so  cling  to  it,  and  fear  more 
to  lose  it  than  aught  else  in  the  world?  What  is  it 
that  is  to  come  hereafter  that  makes  us  shudder  at 
the  mere  thought  of  death?  Who  knows?  For 
ages  and  ages  all' have  thought  and  thought  on  the 
great  question,  but  none  have  yet  solved  it.  I,  in 
my  eagerness  to  live,  gazed  on  that  light  as  the 
drowning  man  looks  to  the  shore.  I  could  not  take 
my  eyes  from  it,  and  my  heart  thrilled  with  hope. 
I  tried  again  to  shout,  but  my  voice  died  on  my  lips. 
The  pattering  of  the  rain  on  the  ruined  dwellings, 
and  on  the  trees,  and  on  the  ground,  drowned  all 
other  sounds,  and,  although  I  kept  repeating,  "They 
hear  us  !  They  are  coming  !  "  and  although  the 
lantern  seemed  to  grow  larger  and  larger,  after  wan- 
dering for  some  time  over  the  field,  it  slowly  disap- 
peared behind  a  little  hill. 

I  fell  once  more  senseless  to  the  ground. 


XV 

I  returned  to  myself,  I  looked  around.  I 
was  in  a  long  hall,  with  posts  all  around.  Some  one 
gave  me  wine  and  water  to  drink,  and  it  was  most 
grateful.  I  was  in  a  bed,  and  beside  me  was  an  old 
gray-mustached  soldier,  who,  when  he  saw  my  eyes 
open,  lifted  up  my  head  and  held  a  cup  to  my  lips. 

"  Well,"  said  he  cheerfully,  "  well  !  we  are 
better." 

I  could  not  help  smiling  as  I  thought  that  I  was 
yet  among  the  living.  My  chest  and  arm  were  stiff 
with  bandages  ;  I  felt  as  if  a  hot  iron  were  burning 
me  there  ;  but  no  matter,  I  lived  ! 

I  gazed  at  the  heavy  rafters  crossing  the  space 
above  me  ;  at  the  tiles  of  the  roof,  through  which 
the  daylight  entered  in  more  than  one  spot ;  I  turned 
and  looked  to  the  other  side,  and  saw  that  I  was  in 
one  of  those  vast  sheds  used  by  the  brewers  of  the 
country  as  a  shelter  for  their  casks  and  wagons.  All 
around,  on  mattresses  and  heaps  of  straw,  numbers 
of  wounded  lay  ranged  ;  and  in  the  middle,  on  a 
large  kitchen-table,  a  surgeon-major  and  his  two 

172 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 


173 


aids,  their  shirt-sleeves  rolled  up,  were  amputating 
the  leg  of  a  soldier,  who  was  shrieking  in  agony.  Be- 
hind them  was  a  mass  of  legs  and  arms.  I  turned 
away  sick  and  trembling. 

Five  or  six  soldiers  were  walking  about,  giving 
bread  and  drink  to  the  wounded. 

But  the  man  who  impressed  himself  most  on  my 
memory  was  a  surgeon  with  sleeves  rolled  up,  who 
cut  and  cut  without  paying  the  slightest  attention 
to  what  was  going  on  around  ;  he  was  a  man  with 
a  large  nose  and  wrinkled  cheeks,  and  every  mo- 
ment flew  into  a  passion  at  his  assistants,  who  could 
not  give  him  his  knives,  pincers,  lint,  or  linen  fast 
enough,  or  who  were  not  quick  enough  sponging 
up  the  blood. 

Things  went  on  quickly,  however,  for  in  less  than 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  had  cut  off  two  legs. 

"Without,  against  the  posts,  was  a  large  wagon  full 
of  straw. 

They  had  just  laid  out  on  the  table  a  Russian  car- 
bineer, six  feet  in  height  at  least  ;  a  ball  had  pierced 
his  neck  near  the  ear,  and  while  the  surgeon  was 
asking  for  his  little  knives,  a  cavalry  surgeon  passed 
before  the  shed.  He  was  short,  stout,  and  badly 
pitted  with  the  small-pox,  and  held  a  portfolio  under 
his  arm. 

"  Ha  !  Forel  !  "  cried  he,  cheerfully. 


174          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

"  It  is  Duchene,"    said  our  surgeon,   turning 
around.     "  How  many  wounded?  " 
"  Seventeen  to  eighteen  thousand." 
"  Aha  !    Well,  how  goes  it  this  morning?  " 
"  Passably — I  am  looking  for  a  tavern." 
Our  surgeon  left  the  shed  to  chat  with  his  com- 
rade ;  they  conversed  quietly,  while  the  assistants 
sat  down  to  drink  a  cup  of  wine,  and  the  Russian 
rolled  his  eyes  despairingly. 

"  See,  Duchene  ;  you  have  only  to  go  down  the 
street,  opposite  that  well,  do  you  see?  " 
"  Very  well  indeed." 
"  Just  opposite  you  will  see  the  canteen." 
-  "  Very  good  ;  thank  you  ;  I  am  off." 
He  started,  and  our  surgeon  called  after  him  : 
"  A  good  appetite  to  you,  Duchene  !  " 
Then  he  returned  to  his  Russian,  whose  neck  he 
laid  open.       He  worked  ill-humoredly,  constantly 
scolding  his  aids. 

"  Be  quick  !  "  he  said,  "  be  quick  !  " 
The  Russian  writhed  and  groaned,  but  he  paid  no 
attention  to  that,  and  at  last,  throwing  the  bullet  up- 
on the  ground,  he  bandaged  up  the  wound,  and 
cried,  "  Carry  him  off  !  " 

They  lifted  the  Russian  from  the  table,  and 
stretched  him  on  a  mattress  beside  the  others  ;  then 
they  laid  his  neighbor  upon  the  table. 


THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT  175 

I  could  not  think  that  such  horrors  took  place 
in  the  world  ;  but  I  was  yet  to  see  worse  than 
this. 

At  five  or  six  beds  from  mine  sat  an  old  corporal 
with  his  leg  bound  up.  He  closed  one  eye  know- 
ingly, and  said  to  his  neighbor,  whose  arm  had  just 
been  cut  off  : 

"  Conscript,  look  at  that  heap  !  I  will  bet  that 
you  cannot  recognize  your  arm." 

The  other,  who  had  hitherto  shown  the  greatest 
courage,  looked,  and  fell  back  senseless. 

Then  the  corporal  began  laughing,  saying  : 

"  He  has  recognized  it.  It  is  the  lower  one,  with 
the  little  blue  flower.  It  always  produces  that  ef- 
fect." 

He  looked  around  self-approvingly,  but  no  one 
laughed  with  him. 

Every  moment  the  wounded  called  for  water. 

"  Drink  !    Drink  !  " 

When  one  began,  all  followed,  and  the  old  sol- 
dier had  certainly  conceived  a  liking  for  me,  for 
each  time  he  passed,  he  presented  the  cup. 

I  did  not  remain  in  the  shed  more  than  an  hour. 
A  dozen  ambulances  drew  up  before  the  door,  and 
the  peasants  of  the  country  round,  in  their  velvet 
jackets,  and  large  black  slouched  hats,  their  whips 
on  their  shoulders,  held  the  horses  by  the  reins.  A 


1 76          THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

picket  of  hussars  arrived  soon  after,  and  their  officer 
dismounting,  entered  and  said  : 

"  Excuse  me,  major,  but  here  is  an  order  to  escort 
twelve  wagons  of  wounded  as  far  as  Lutzen.  Is  it 
here  that  we  are  to  receive  them?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  here,"  replied  the  surgeon. 

The  peasants  and  the  ambulance-drivers,  after 
giving  us  a  last  draught  of  wine,  began  carrying  us 
to  the  wagons.  As  one  was  filled,  'it  departed,  and 
another  advanced.  I  was  in  the  third,  seated  on  the 
straAv,  in  the  front  row,  beside  a  conscript  of  the 
Twenty-seventh,  who  had  lost  his  right  hand  ;  be- 
hind was  another  who  had  lost  a  leg  ;  then  came  one 
whose  head  was  laid  open,  and  another  whose  jaw 
was  broken  ;  so  was  the  wagon  filled. 

They  had  given  us  our  great-coats  ;  but  despite 
them  and  the  sun,  which  was  shining  brightly,  we 
shivered  with  cold,  and  left  only  our  noses  and  for- 
age-caps, or  linen  bandages  on.  the  splints  visible. 
No  one  spoke  ;  each  was  too  much  occupied  think- 
ing of  himself. 

At  moments  I  was  terribly  cold  ;  then  flashes  of 
heat  would  dart  through  me,  and  flush  me  as  in  a 
fever  ;  and  indeed  it  was  the  beginning  of  the  fever. 
But  as  we  left  Kaya,  I  was  yet  well  ;  I  saw  every- 
thing clearly,  and  it  was  not  until  we  neared  Leipzig 
that  I  felt  indeed  sick. 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT  177 

At  last  we  were  all  placed  in  the  wagons,  and  ar- 
ranged according  to  our  condition — those  able  to  sit 
up,  in  the  first  that  set  out,  the  others  stretched  in 
the  last,  and  we  started.  The  hussars  rode  beside 
us,  smoking  and  chatting,  paying  no  attention  to  us. 

In  passing  through  Kaya,  I  saw  all  the  horrors  of 
war.  The  village  was  but  a  mass  of  cinders  ;  the 
roofs  had  fallen,  and  the  walls  alone  remained  stand- 
ing ;  the  rafters  were  broken  ;  we  could  see  the 
remnants  of  rooms,  stairs,  and  doors  heaped  within. 
The  poor  villagers,  women,  children,  and  old  men, 
came  and  went  with  somnvful  faces.  We  could  see 
them  going  up  and  down  in  their  houses,  as  if  they 
were  in  cages  in  the  open  air  ;  and  in  one  we  saw  a 
mirror  and  an  evergreen  branch,  showing  where 
dwelt  a  young  girl  in  time  of  peace. 

Ah  !  who  could  foresee  that  their  happiness 
would  so  soon  be  destroyed,  not  by  the  fury  of  the 
winds  or  the  wrath  of  heaven,  but  by  the  rage  of 
man  ! 

Even  the  cattle  and  pigeons  seemed  seeking  their 
lost  homes  among  the  ruins  ;  the  oxen  and  the 
goats,  scattered  through  the  streets,  lowed  and  bleat- 
ed plaintively.  Fowls  were  roosting  upon  the  trees, 
and  everywhere,  everywhere  we  saw  the  traces  of 
cannon-balls. 

At  the  last  house  an  old  man  with  flowing  white 
12 


178          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

hair,  sat  at  the  threshold  of  what  had  been  his  cot- 
tage, with  a  child  upon  his  knees,  glaring  on  us  as 
we  passed.  "Did  he  see  us?"  I  do  not  know. 
His  furrowed  brow  and  stony  eyes  spoke  of  despair. 
How  many  years  of  labor,  of  patient  economy,  of 
suffering,  had  he  passed  to  make  sure  a  quiet  old 
age  !  "Now  all  was  crushed,  ruined  ;  the  child  and 
he  had  no  longer  a  roof  to  cover  their  heads. 

And  those  great  trenches — fully  a  mile  of  them 
— at  which  the  country  people  were  working  in  such 
haste,  to  keep  the  plague  from  completing  the  work 
war  began  !  I  saw  them,  too,  from  the  top  of  the 
hill  of  Kaya,  and  turned  away  my  eyes,  horror- 
stricken.  Russians,  French,  Prussians,  were  there 
heaped  pell-mell,  as  if  God  had  made  them  to  love 
each  other  before  the  invention  of  arms  and  uni- 
forms, which  divide  them  for  the  profit  of  those  who 
rule  them.  There  they  lay,  side  by  side  ;  and  the 
part  of  them  which  could  not  die  knew  no  more  of 
war,  but  cursed  the  crimes  that  had  for  centuries 
kept  them  apart. 

But  what  was  sadder  yet,  was  the  long  line  of 
ambulances — bearing  the  agonized  wounded — those 
of  whom  they  speak  so  much  in  the  bulletins  to  make 
the  loss  seem  less,  and  who  die  by  thousands  in  the 
hospitals,  far  from  all  they  love  ;  while  at  their 
homes  cannon  are  firing,  and  church-bells  are  ring- 


THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT  179 

ing  with  joyous  chimes — rejoicing  that  thousands 
of  men  are  slain  ! 

At  length  we  reach  Lutzen,  but  it  was  so  full  of 
wounded  that  we  were  obliged  to  continue  on  to 
Leipzig.  We  saw  in  the  streets  only  half-dead 
wretches,  stretched  on  straw  along  the  walls  of  the 
houses.  It  was  more  than  an  hour  before  we 
reached  a  church,  where  fifteen  or  twenty  of  us  who 
could  no  longer  proceed  were  left. 

Our  ambulance  conductor  and  his  men,  after  re- 
freshing themselves  at  a  tavern  at  the  street  corner, 
remounted,  and  we  continued  our  journey  to  Leip- 
zig. 

I  saw  and  heard  no  more  ;  my  head  swam  ;  a 
murmuring  filled  my  ears,  I  thought  trees  were  men, 
and  an  intolerable  thirst  burned  my  lips. 

For  a  long  while  past,  many  in  the  wagons  had 
been  shrieking,  calling  upon  their  mothers,  trying 
to  rise  and  fling  themselves  upon  the  road.  I  know 
not  whether  I  did  the  same  ;  but  I  awoke  as  from 
a  horrible  dream,  as  two  men  seized  me,  each  by  a 
leg,  placing  their  arms  under  my  body,  and  carried 
me  through  a  dark  square.  The  sky  seemed  cov- 
ered with  stars,  and  innumerable  lights  shone  from 
an  immense  edifice  before  us.  It  was  the  hospital 
of  the  market-place  at  Leipzig. 

The  two  men  who  were  carrying  me  ascended  a 


i8o          THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

spiral  stairway  which  led  to  an  immense  hall  where 
beds  were  laid  together  in  three  lines,  so  close  that 
they  touched  each  other.  On  one  of  these  beds  I 
was  placed,  in  the  midst  of  oaths,  cries  for  pity,  and 
muttered  complaints  from  hundreds  of  fever-strick- 
en wounded.  The  windows  were  open,  and  the 
flames  of  the  lanterns  flickered  in  the  gusts  of  wind. 
Surgeons,  assistants,  and  nurses  with  great  aprons 
tied  beneath  their  arms,  came  and  went,  while  the 
groans  from  the  halls  below,  and  the  rolling  of  am- 
bulances, cracking  of  whips  and  neighing  of  horses 
without,  seemed  to  pierce  my  very  brain.  While 
they  were  undressing  me,  they  handled  me  roughly, 
and  my  wound  pained  me  so  horribly  that  I  could 
not  avoid  shrieking.  A  surgeon  came  up  at  once, 
and  scolded  them  for  not  being  more  careful.  That 
is  all  I  remember  that  night  ;  for  I  became  delir- 
ious, and  raved  constantly  of  Catharine,  Monsieur 
Goulden,  and  Aunt  Gredel,  as  my  neighbor,  an  old 
artilleryman,  whom  my  cries  prevented  from  sleep- 
ing, afterward  told  me.  I  awoke  the  next  morn- 
ing at  about  eight  o'clock,  at  the  first  roll  of  the 
drum,  and  saw  the  hall  better,  and  then  learned  that 
I  had  the  bone  of  my  left  shoulder  broken.  A 
dozen  surgeons  were  around  me  ;  one  of  them,  a 
stout,  dark  man,  whom  they  called  Monsieur  the 
Baron,  was  opening  my  bandages,  while  an  assist- 


THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT          181 

ant  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  held  a  basin  of  warm  water. 
The  baron  examined  my  wound  ;  all  the  others  bent 
forward  to  hear  what  he  might  say.  He  spoke  a 
few  moments,  but  all  that  I  could  understand  was, 
that  the  ball  had  struck  from  below,  breaking  the 
bone  and  passing  out  behind.  I  saw  that  he  knew 
his  business  well,  for  the  Prussians  had  fired  from 
below,  over  the  garden  wall,  so  that  the  ball  must 
have  ranged  upward.  He  washed  the  wound  him- 
self, and  with  a  couple  of  turns  of  his  hand,  replaced 
the  bandage,  so  that  my  shoulder  could  not  move, 
and  everything  was  in  order. 

I  felt  much  better.  Ten  minutes  after  a  hospital 
steward  put  a  shirt  on  me  without  hurting  me — such 
was  his  skill. 

The  surgeon,  passing  to  another  bed,  cried  : 

"  What  !  You  here  again,  old  fellow?  " 

"  Yes  ;  it  is  I,  Monsieur  the  Baron,"  replied  the 
artilleryman,  proud  to  be  recognized  ;  "  the  first 
time  was  at  Austerlitz,  the  second  at  Jena,  and  then 
I  received  two  thrusts  of  a  lance  at  Smolensk." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  surgeon  kindly  ;  "  and  now 
what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

"  Three  sabre-cuts  on  my  left  arm  while  I  was  de- 
fending my  piece  from  the  Prussian  hussars." 

The  surgeon  unwound  the  bandage,  and  asked, 

"  Have  you  the  cross? " 


l82          THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

"  No,  Monsieur  the  Baron." 

"  What  is  your  name?  " 

"  Christian  Zimmer,  of  the  Second  horse  artil- 
lery." 

"  Very  good  !  " 

He  dressed  the  wounds,  and  went  to  the  next,  say- 
ing : 

"  You  will  soon  be  well." 

He  returned,  chatting  with  the  others,  and  went 
out  after  finishing  his  round  and  giving  some  orders 
to  the  nurses. 

The  old  artilleryman's  heart  seemed  overflowing 
with  joy  ;  and,  as  I  concluded  from  his  name  that 
he  came  from  Alsace,  I  spoke  to  him  in  our  lan- 
guage, at  which  he  was  still  more  rejoiced.  He  was 
a  tall  fellow — at  least  six  feet  in  height,  with  round 
shoulders,  a  flat  forehead,  large  nose,  light  red  mus- 
taches, and  was  as  hard  as  a  rock,  but  a  good  man  for 
all  that.  His  eyes  twinkled  when  I  spoke  Alsatian 
to  him,  and  he  pricked  up  his  ears  at  once.  If  I 
asked  him  in  our  tongue  he  was  willing  to  give  me 
everything  he  had,  but  he  had  only  a  clasp  of  the 
hand,  which  cracked  the  bones  in  mine  to  give.  He 
called  me  Josephel,  as  they  did  at  home,  and  said  : 

"  Josephel,  be  careful  how  you  swallow  the  medi- 
cines they  give  you,  only  take  what  you  know.  All 
that  does  not  smell  good  is  good  for  nothing.  If 


THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT  183 

they  would  give  us  a  bottle  of  Rikevir  every  day  we 
would  soon  be  well  ;  but  it  is  easier  to  spoil  our  di- 
gestion with  a  handful  of  vile  boiled  herbs,  than  to 
bring  us  a  little  of  the  good  white  wine  of  Alsace." 

When  I  told  him  I  was  afraid  of  dying  of  the 
fever,  he  looked  angry  with  his  great  gray  eyes,  and 
said  : 

"  Josephel,  you  are  a  fool.  Do  you  think  that 
such  tall  fellows  as  you  and  I  were  born  to  die  in  a 
hospital?  Ko,  no;  drive  the  idea  from  your  head." 

But  he  spoke  in  vain,  for  every  morning  the 
surgeons,  making  their  rounds,  found  seven  or  eight 
dead.  Some  died  in  fevers,  some  in  deadly  chill  ; 
so  that  heat  or  cold  might  be  the  presage  of  death. 

Zimmer  said  that  all  this  proceeded  from  the  evil 
drugs  which  the  doctors  invented.  "  Do  you  see 
that  tall,  thin  fellow?  "  he  asked.  "  Well,  that 
man  can  boast  of  having  killed  more  men  than  a 
field-piece  ;  he  is  always  primed,  with  his  matcli 
lighted  ;  and  that  little  brown  fellow — I  would 
send  him  instead  of  the  Emperor  to  the  Russians 
and  Prussians  ;  he  would  kill  more  of  them  than  a 
whole  army  corps." 

He  would  have  made  me  laugh  with  his  jokes  if 
the  litters  had  not  been  constantly  passing. 

At  the  end  of  three  weeks  my  shoulder  began  to 
heal,  and  Zimmer's  wounds  were  also  doing  well. 


184          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

They  gave  us  every  morning  some  good  boiled  beef 
which  warmed  our  hearts,  and  in  the  evening  a  lit- 
tle beef  with  half  a  glass  of  wine,  the  sight 
alone  of  which  rejoiced  us  and  made  the  future  look 
hopeful. 

About  this  time,  too,  they  allowed  us  to  walk  in 
the  large  garden,  full  of  elms,  behind  the  hospital. 
There  were  benches  under  the  trees,  and  we  walked 
the  paths  like  millionnaires  in  our  gray  great-coats 
and  forage-caps.  The  weather  was  magnificent  ; 
and  we  could  see  far  along  the  poplar  bordered  Par- 
tha.  This  river  falls  into  the  Elster,  on  the  left, 
forming  a  long  blue  line.  On  the  same  side  stretches 
a  forest  of  beech  trees,  and  in  front  are  three  or  four 
great  white  roads,  which  cross  fields  of  wheat,  bar- 
ley and  hay,  and  hop  plantations  ;  no  sight  could  be 
pleasanter,  or  richer,  especially  when  the  breeze 
falls  upon  it  and  these  harvests  rise  and  fall  in  the 
sunlight  like  waves  of  the  sea.  The  increasing  heat 
presaged  a  fine  year  and  often,  when  looking  at  the 
beautiful  scenery  around,  I  thought  of  Phalsbourg, 
and  the  tears  came  to  my  eyes. 

"  I  would  like  to  know  what  makes  you  cry  so, 
Josephel,"  said  Zimmer.  "  Instead  of  catching  a 
fever  in  the  hospital,  or  losing  a  leg  or  arm,  like  hun- 
dreds of  others,  here  we  are  quietly  seated  in  the 
shade  ;  we  are  well  fed,  and  can  smoke  when  we 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT          185 

have  any  tobacco  ;  and  still  you  cry.  What  more 
do  you  want,  Josephel?  " 

Then  I  told  him  of  Catharine  ;  of  our  walks  at 
Quatre- Vents  ;  of  our  promises  ;  of  all  my  former 
life,  which  then  seemed  a  dream.  He  listened, 
smoking  his  pipe. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  he  ;  "  all  this  is  very  sad.  Be- 
fore the  conscription  of  1798,  I  too  was  going  to 
marry  a  girl  of  our  village,  who  was  named  Mar- 
gredel,  and  whom  I  loved  better  than  all  the  world 
beside.  We  had  promised  to  marry  each  other,  and 
all  through  the  campaign  of  Zurich,  I  never  passed 
a  day  without  thinking  of  her.  But  when  I  first 
received  a  furlough  and  reached  home,  what  did  I 
hear?  Margredel  had  been  three  months  married 
to  a  shoemaker,  named  Passauf." 

"  You  may  imagine  my  wrath,  Josephel;  I  could 
not  see  clearly  ;  I  wanted  to  demolish  everything  ; 
and,  as  they  told  me  that  Passauf  was  at  the  Grand- 
Cerf  brewery,  thither  I  started,  looking  neither  to 
the  right  nor  left.  There  I  saw  him  drinking  with 
three  or  four  rogues.  As  I  rushed  forward,  he 
cried,  '  There  comes  Christian  Zimmer  !  How 
goes  it,  Christian?  Margredel  sends  you  her  com- 
pliments.' He  winked  his  eye.  I  seized  a  glass, 
which  I  hurled  at  his  head,  and  broke  to  pieces,  say- 
ing, '  Give  her  that  for  my  wedding  present,  you 


186          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

beggar  ! '  The  others,  seeing  their  friend  thus 
maltreated,  very  naturally  fell  upon  me.  I  knocked 
two  or  three  of  them  over  with  a  jug,  jumped  on  a 
table,  sprang  through  a  window,  and  beat  a  retreat. 

"  '  It  was  time,'  I  thought. 

"  But  that  was  not  all,"  he  continued  ;  "  I 
had  scarcely  reached  my  mother's  when  the  gendar- 
merie arrived,  and  they  arrested  me.  They  put  me 
on  a  wagon  and  conducted  me  from  brigade  to  bri- 
gade until  we  reached  my  regiment,  which  was  at 
Strasbourg.  I  remained  six  weeks  at  Finckmatt, 
and  would  probably  have  received  the  ball  and 
chain,  if  we  had  not  had  to  cross  the  Rhine  to 
Hohenlinden. 

"  The  Commandant  Courtaud  himself  said  to  me : 

"  l  You  can  boast  of  striking  a  hard  blow,  but  if 
you  happen  again  to  knock  people  over  with  jugs, 
it  will  not  be  well  for  you — I  warn  you.  Is  that 
any  way  to  fight,  animal  ?  Why  do  we  wear  sabres, 
if  not  to  use  them  and  do  our  country  honor? ' 

"  I  had  no  reply  to  make. 

"  From  that  day,  Josephel,  the  thought  of  mar- 
riage never  troubled  me.  Don't  talk  to  me  of  a  sol- 
dier who  has  a  wife  to  think  of.  Look  at  our  gen- 
erals who  are  married,  do  they  fight  as  they  used  to? 
No,  they  have  but  one  idea,  and  that  is  to  increase 
their  store  and  to  profit  by  their  wealth  by  living 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT          187 

well  with  their  duchesses  and  little  dukes  at  home. 
My  grandfather  Yeri,  the  forester,  always  said  that 
a  good  hound  should  be  lean,  and  I  think  the  same  of 
good  generals  and  good  soldiers.  The  poor  fellows 
are  always  in  working  order,  but  our  generals  grow 
fat  from  their  good  dinners  at  home." 

So  spoke  my  friend  Zimmer  in  the  honesty  of  his 
heart,  and  all  this  did  not  lessen  my  sadness. 

As  soon  as  I  could  sit  up,  I  hastened  to  inform 
Monsieur  Goulden,  by  letter,  that  I  was  in  the  hos- 
pital of  Halle,  in  one  of  the  five  buildings  of  Leip- 
zig, slightly  wounded  in  the  arm,  but  that  he  need 
fear  nothing  for  me,  for  I  was  growing  better  and 
better.  I  asked  him  to  show  my  letter  to  Catharine 
and  Aunt  Gredel  to  comfort  them  in  the  midst  of 
such  fearful  war.  I  told  him,  too.,  that  my  greatest 
happiness  would  be  to  receive  news  from  home  and 
of  the  health  of  all  whom  I  loved. 

From  that  moment  I  had  no  rest  ;  every  morning 
I  expected  an  answer,  and  to  see  the  postmaster  dis- 
tribute twenty  or  thirty  letters  in  our  ward,  without 
my  receiving  one,  almost  broke  my  heart  ;  I  hur- 
ried to  the  garden  and  wept.  There  was  a  little 
dark  corner  where  they  threw  broken  pottery — a 
place  buried  in  shade,  which  pleased  me  much,  be- 
cause no  one  ever  came  there — there  I  passed  my 
time  dreaming  on  an  old  moss-covered  bench.  Evil 


i88          THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

thoughts  crossed  my  brain — I  almost  believed  that 
Catharine  could  forget  her  promises,  and  I  muttered 
to-  myself,  "  Ah  !  if  you  had  not  been  picked  up  at 
Kaya  !  All  would  then  have  been  ended  !  Why 
were  you  not  abandoned?  Better  to  have  been, 
than  to  suffer  thus  '!  " 

To  such  a  pass  did  I  finally  arrive,  that  I  no  longer 
wished  to  recover,  when  one  morning  the  letter-car- 
rier, among  other  names,  called  that  of  Joseph  Ber- 
tha. I  lifted  my  hand  without  being  able  to  speak, 
and  a  large,  square  letter,  covered  with  innumerable 
post-marks,  was  handed  me.  I  recognized  Monsieur 
Goulden's  handwriting,  and  turned  pale. 

"  "Well,"  said  Zimmer,  laughing,  "  it  is  come  at 
last." 

I  did  not  answer,  but  thrust  the  letter  in  my 
pocket,  to  read  it  at  leisure  and  alone.  I  went  to 
the  end  of  the  garden  and  opened  it.  Two  or  three 
apple-blossoms  dropped  upon  the  ground,  with  an 
order  for  money,  on  which  Monsieur  Goulden  had 
written  a  few  words.  But  what  touched  me  most 
was  the  handwriting  of  Catharine,  which  I  gazed  at 
without  reading  a  word,  while  my  heart  beat  as  if 
about  to  burst  through  my  bosom. 

At  last  I  grew  a  little  calmer  and  read  the  letter 
slowly,  stopping  from  time  to  time  to  make  sure  that 
I  made  no  mistake — that  it  was  indeed  my  dear 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT          189 

Catharine  who    wrote,  and    that  I  was    not  in  a 
dream. 

I  have  kept  that  letter,  because  it  brought,  so  to 
speak,  life  back  to  me.  Here  it  is  as  I  received  it  on 
the  eighth  day  of  June,  1813: 

"  MY  DEAR  JOSEPH: — I  write  you  to  tell  you  I  yet  love 
you  alone,  and  that,  day  by  day,  I  love  you  more. 

"  My  greatest  grief  is  to  know  that  you  are  wounded, 
in  a  hospital,  and  that  I  cannot  take  care  of  you.  Since 
the  conscripts  departed,  we  have  not  had  a  moment's 
peace  of  mind.  My  mother  says  I  am  silly  to  weep  night 
and  day,  but  she  weeps  as  much  as  I,  and  her  wrath  falls 
heavily  on  Pinacle,  who  dared  not  come  to  the  market- 
place, because  she  carried  a  hammer  in  her  basket. 

"  But  our  greatest  grief  was  when  we  heard  that  the 
battle  had  taken  place,  and  that  thousands  of  men  had 
fallen;  mother  ran  every  morning  to  the  post-office, 
while  I  could  not  move  from  the  house.  At  last  your 
letter  came,  thank  heaven!  to  cheer  us.  Now  I  am  bet- 
ter, for  I  can  weep  at  my  ease,  thanking  God  that  He  has 
saved  your  life. 

"  And  when  I  think  how  happy  we  used  to  be,  Joseph 
— when  you  came  every  Sunday,  and  we  sat  side  by  side 
without  stirring  and  thought  of  nothing!  Ah!  we  did 
not  know  how  happy  we  were;  we  knew  not  what  might 
happen — but  God's  will  be  done.  If  you  only  recover! 
if  we  may  only  hope  to  be  once  again  as  happy  as  we 
were ! 

"  Many  people  talk  of  peace,  but  the  Emperor  so  loves 
war,  that  I  fear  it  is  far  off. 

"  What  pleases  me  most  is  to  know  that  your  wound  is 


190 


THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 


not  dangerous,  and  that  you  still  love  me.  Ah!  Joseph, 
I  will  love  you  forever — that  is  all  I  can  say.  I  can  say  it 
from  the  bottom  of  my  heart;  and  I  know  my  mother 
loves  you  too! 

"  Now,  AJonsieur  Goulden  wishes  to  say  a  few  words 
to  you,  so  I  will  close.  The  weather  is  beautiful  here, 
and  the  great  apple-tree  in  the  garden  is  full  of  flowers; 
I  have  plucked  a  few,  which  I  shall  put  in  this  letter 
when  M.  Goulden  has  written.  Perhaps  with  God's  bless- 
ing we  shall  yet  eat  together  one  of  those  large  apples. 
Embrace  me  as  I  embrace  you,  Joseph,  Farewell!  Fare- 
well! " 

As  I  finished  reading  this,  Zimmer  arrived,  and 
in  mj  joy,  I  said  : 

"  Sit  down,  Zimmer,  and  I  will  read  you  my 
sweetheart's  letter.  You  will  see  whether  she  is  a 
Margredel." 

i(  Let  me  light  my  pipe  first,"  he  answered  ;  and 
having  done  so,  he  added  :  "  Go  on,  Josephel,  but 
I  warn  you  that  I  am  an  old  bird,  and  do  not  believe 
all  I  hear  ;  women  are  more  cunning  than  we." 

Notwithstanding  this  bit  of  philosophy,  I  read 
Catharine's  letter  slowly  to  him.  When  I  had  end- 
ed, he  took  it,  and  for  a  long  time  gazed  at  it  dream- 
ily, and  then  handed  it  back,  saying  : 

"  There  !  Josephel.  She  is  a  good  girl,  and  a 
sensible  one,  and  will  never  marry  any  one  but  you." 

"  Do  you  really  think  so?  " 

"  Yes  ;  you  may  rely  upon  her  ;  she  will  never 


THE  STORY   OF  A  CONSCRIPT          191 

marry  a  Passauf.  I  would  rather  distrust  the  Em- 
peror than  such  a  girl." 

I  could  have  embraced  Zimmer  for  these  words  ; 
but  I  said  : 

"  I  have  received  a  bill  for  one  hundred  francs. 
Now  for  some  white  wine  of  Alsace.  Let  us  try  to 
get  out." 

"  That  is  well  thought  of,"  said  he,  twisting  his 
mustache  and  putting  his  pipe  in  his  pocket.  "  I 
do  not  like  to  mope  in  a  garden  when  there  are  tav- 
erns outside.  We  must  get  permission." 

We  arose  joyfully  and  went  to  the  hospital,  when 
the  letter-carrier,  coming  out,  stopped  Zimmer,  say- 
ing : 

"  Are  you  Christian  Zimmer,  of  the  Second  horse 
artillery?" 

"  I  have  that  honor,  monsieur  the  carrier." 

"  Well,  here  is  something  for  you,"  said  the 
other,  handing  him  a  little  package  and  a  large  let- 
ter. 

Zimmer  was  stupefied,  never  having  received  any- 
thing from  home  or  from  anywhere  else.  He  opened 
the  packet — a  box  appeared — then  the  box — 
and  saw  the  cross  of  honor.  He  became  pale  ;  his 
eyes  filled  with  tears,  he  staggered  against  a  balus- 
trade, and  then  shouted  "  Vive  VEmpereur  !  "  in 
such  tones  that  the  three  halls  rang  and  rang  again. 


192          THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

The  carrier  looked  on  smiling. 

"  You  are  satisfied/'  said  he. 

"  Satisfied  !     I  need  but  one  thing  more." 

"And  what  is  that?  " 

"  Permission  to  go  to  the  city." 

"  You  must  ask  Monsieur  Tardieu,  the  surgeon- 
in-chief." 

He  went  away  laughing,  while  we  ascended  arm- 
in-arm,  to  ask  permission  of  the  surgeon-major,  an 
old  man,  who  had  heard  the  "  Vive  I'Empereur  !  " 
and  demanded  gravely  : 

"  What  is  the  matter?  " 

Zimmer  showed  his  cross  and  replied  : 

"  Pardon,  major  ;  but  I  am  more  than  usually 
merry," 

"  I  can  easily  believe  you,"  said  Monsieur  Tar- 
dieu  ;  "  you  want  a  pass  to  the  city?  " 

"  If  you  will  be  so  good  ;  for  myself  and  my  com- 
rade, Joseph  Bertha." 

The  surgeon  had  examined  my  wound  the  day  be- 
fore. He  took  out  his  portfolio  and  gave  us  passes. 
"VVe  left  as  proud  as  kings — Zimmer  of  his  cross,  I, 
of  my  letter. 

Downstairs  in  the  great  vestibule  the  porter 
cried : 

"  Hold  on  there  !     Where  are  you  going?  " 

Zimmer  showed  him  our  passes,  and  we  sallied 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 


193 


forth,  glad  to  breathe  the  free  air,  without,  once 
more.  A  sentinel  showed  us  the  post-office,  where 
I  was  to  receive  my  hundred  francs. 

Then,  more  gravely,  for  our  joy  had  sunk  deeper 
in  our  hearts,  we  reached  the  gate  of  Halle  about 
two  musket  shots  to  the  left,  at  the  end  of  a  long 
avenue  of  lindens.  Each  faubourg  is  separated 
from  the  old  ramparts  only  by  these  avenues,  and  all 
around  Leipzig  passes  another  very  wide  one,  also 
bordered  with  lindens.  The  ramparts  are  very  old 
— such  as  we  see  at  Saint  Hippolyte,  on  the  upper 
Rhine, — crumbling,  grass-grown  walls  ;  at  least 
such  they  are  if  the  Germans  have  not  repaired  them 
since  1813. 


XVI 

How  much  were  we  to  learn  that  day  !  At 
the  hospital  no  one  troubled  himself  about  any- 
thing: when  every  morning  you  see  fifty  wounded 
come  in,  and  when  every  evening  you  see  as  many 
depart  upon  the  bier,  you  have  the  world  before 
you  in  a  narrow  compass,  and  you  think — 

"  After  us  comes  the  end  of  the  universe !  " 

But  without,  these  ideas  change.  When  I  caught 
the  first  glimpse  of  the  street  of  Halle, — that  old 
city  with  its  shops,  its  gateways  filled  with,  mer- 
chandise, its  old  peaked  roofs,  its  heavy  wagons 
laden  with  bales,  in  a  word,  all  its  busy  commercial 
life, — I  was  struck  with  wonder;  I  had  never  seen 
anything  like  it,  and  I  said  to  myself: 

"  This  is  indeed  a  mercantile  city,  such  as  they 
talk  of — full  of  industrious  people  trying  to  make 
a  living,  or  competence,  or  wealth;  where  every 
one  seeks  to  rise,  not  to  the  injury  of  others,  but  by 
working — contriving  night  and  day  how  to  make 
his  family  prosperous;  so  that  all  profit  by  inven- 
194 


THE    STORY    OF    A    CONSCRIPT  195 

tions  and  discoveries.  Here  is  the  happiness  of 
peace  in  the  midst  of  a  fearful  war!  " 

But  the  poor  wounded,  wandering  about  with 
their  arms  in  slings,  or  perhaps  dragging  a  leg  after 
them  as  they  limped  on  crutches,  were  sad  sights  to 
see. 

I  walked  dreamily  through  the  streets,  led  by 
Zimmer,  who  recognized  every  corner,  and  kept 
repeating: 

"  There — there  is  the  church  of  Saint  Nicholas; 
that  large  building  is  the  university:  that  on  yon- 
der is  the  Hotel  de  Villc." 

He  seemed  to  remember  every  stone,  having 
been  there  in  1807,  before  the  battle  of  Friedland, 
and  continued : 

"  We  are  the  same  here  as  if  we  were  in  Metz, 
or  Strasbourg,  or  any  other  city  in  France.  The 
people  wish  us  well.  After  the  campaign  of  1806, 
they  used  to  do  all  they  could  for  us.  The  citizens 
would  take  three  or  four  of  us  at  a  time  to  dinner 
with  them.  They  even  gave  us  balls  and  called  us 
the  heroes  of  Jena.  Go  where  we  would  they 
everywhere  received  us  as  benefactors  of  the  coun- 
try. We  named  their  elector  King  of  Saxony,  and 
gave  him  a  good  slice  of  Poland." 

Suddenly  he  stopped  before  a  little,  low  door 
and  cried: 


196         THE  STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

"  Hold !  Here  is  the  Golden  Sheep  Brewery. 
The  front  is  on  the  other  street,  but  we  can  enter 
here.  Come!  " 

I  followed  him  into  a  narrow,  winding  passage 
which  led  to  an  old  court,  surrounded  by  rubble 
walls,  with  little  moss-covered  galleries  under  the 
roof  and  a  weathercock  upon  the  peak,  as  in  the 
Tanner's  Lane  in  Strasbourg.  To  the  right  was  the 
brewery,  and  in  a  corner  a  great  wheel,  turned  by 
an  enormous  dog,  which  pumped  the  beer  to  every 
story  of  the  house. 

The  clinking  of  glasses  was  heard  coming  from 
a  room  which  opened  on  the  Rue  de  Tilly,  and 
under  the  windows  of  this  was  a  deep  cellar  re- 
sounding with  the  cooper's  hammer.  The  sweet 
smell  of  the  new  March  beer  filled  the  air,  and 
Zimmer,  with  a  look  of  satisfaction,  cried: 

"  Yes,  here  I  came  six  years  ago  with  Ferre  and 
stout  Rousillon.  How  glad  I  am  to  see  it  all  again, 
Josephel!  It  was  six  years  ago.  Poor  Rousillon! 
he  left  his  bones  at  Smolensk  last  year!  and  Ferre 
must  now  be  at  home  in  his  village  near  Toul,  for 
he  lost  his  left  leg  at  Wagram.  How  everything 
comes  back  as  I  think  of  it !  " 

At  the  same  time  he  pushed  open  the  door,  and 
we  entered  a  lofty  hall,  full  of  smoke.  I  saw, 
through  the  thick,  gray  atmosphere,  a  long  row  of 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT          197 

tables,  surrounded  by  men  drinking — the  greater 
number  in  short  coats  and  little  caps,  the  remainder 
in  the  Saxon  uniform.  The  first  were  students, 
young  men  of  family  who  came  to  Leipzig  to  study 
law,  medicine,  and  all  that  can  be  learned  by  empty- 
ing glasses  and  leading  a  jolly  life,  which  they  call 
Fiichs-commerce.  They  often  fight  among  them- 
selves with  a  sort  of  blade  rounded  at  the  point  and 
only  its  tip  sharpened,  so  that  they  slash  their  faces, 
as  Zimmer  told  me,  but  life  is  never  endangered. 
This  shows  the  good  sense  of  these  students,  who 
know  very  well  that  life  is  precious,  and  that  one 
had  better  get  five  or  six  slashes,  or  even  more, 
than  lose  it. 

Zimmer  laughed  as  he  told  me  these  things  ;  his 
love  of  glory  blinded  him;  he  said  they  might  as 
well  load  cannon  with  roasted  apples,  as  fight  with, 
swords  rounded  at  the  point. 

But  we  entered  the  hall,  and  we  saw  the  old- 
est of  the  students — a  tall  withered-looking  man 
with  a  red  nose  and  long  flaxen  beard,  stained  with 
beer — standing  upon  a  table,  reading  the  gazette 
aloud  which  hung  from  his  hand  like  an  apron. 
He  held  the  paper  in  one  hand,  and  in  the  other 
a  long  porcelain  pipe.  His  comrades,  with  their 
long,  light  hair  falling  upon  their  shoulders,  were 
listening  with  the  deepest  interest  ;  and  as  we 


198          THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

entered,  they  shouted,  "  Vatcrland  !  Vater- 
land  ! " 

They  touched  glasses  with  the  Saxon  soldiers, 
while  the  tall  student  bent  over  to  take  up  his  glass, 
and  the  round,  fat  brewer  cried: 

"  Gesundheit!    Gesundheit!  " 

Scarcely  had  we  made  half  a  dozen  steps  toward 
them,  when  they  became  silent. 

"  Come,  come, comrades !  "  cried  Zimmer,  "don't 
disturb  yourselves.  Go  on  reading.  We  do  not 
object  to  hear  the  news." 

But  they  did  not  seem  inclined  to  profit  by  our 
invitation,  and  the  reader  descended  from  the  table, 
folding  up  his  paper,  which  he  put  in  his  pocket. 

"  We  are  done,"  said  he,  "  we  are  done." 

"  Yes;  we  are  done,"  repeated  the  others,  look- 
ing at  each  other  wif  h.  a  peculiar  expression. 

Two  or  three  of  the  German  soldiers  rose  and 
left  the  room,  as  if  to  take  the  air  in  the  court. 
And  the  fat  landlord  said : 

"  You  do  not  perhaps  know  that  the  large  hall 
is  on  the  Rue  de  Tilly?  " 

"  Yes;  we  know  it  very  well,"  replied  Zimmer; 
"  but  I  like  this  little  hall  better.  Here  I  used  to 
come,  long  ago,  with  two  old  comrades,  to  empty 
a  few  glasses  in  honor  of  Jena  and  Auerstadt.  I 
know  this  room  of  old." 


WB  SAW  HIM  STANDING  ON    A   TABL*. 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT          199 

"  Ah !  as  you  please,  as  you  please/'  returned 
the  landlord.  "  Do  you  wish  some  March  beer?  " 

"  Yes;  two  glasses  and  the  gazette." 

"  Very  good." 

The  glasses  were  handed  us,  and  Zimmer,  who 
observed  nothing,  tried  to  open  a  conversation  with 
the  students;  but  they  excused  themselves,  and, 
one  after  another,  went  out.  I  saw  that  they  hated 
us,  but  dared  not  show  it. 

The  gazette,  which  was  from  France,  spoke  of 
an  armistice,  after  two  new  victories  at  Bautzen  and 
Wurtschen.  This  armistice  commenced  on  the 
sixth  of  June,  and  a  conference  was  then  being 
held  at  Prague,  in  Bohemia,  to  arrange  on  terms  of 
peace.  All  this  naturally  gave  me  pleasure.  I 
thought  of  again  seeing  home.  But  Zimmer, 
with  his  habit  of  thinking  aloud,  filled  the  hall 
with  his  reflections,  and  interrupted  me  at  every 
line. 

"  An  armistice !  "  he  cried.  "  Do  we  want  an 
armistice.  After  having  beaten  those  Prussians 
and  Russians  at  Lutzen,  Bautzen  and  Wurtschen, 
ought  we  not  to  annihilate  them?  Would  they 
give  us  an  armistice  if  they  had  beaten  us?  There, 
Joseph,  you  see  the  Emperor's  character — he  is  too 
good.  It  is  his  only  fault.  He  did  the  same  thing 
after  Austerlitz,  and  he  had  to  begin  over  again.  I 


200          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

tell  you,  he  is  too  good  ;  and  if  he  were  not  so,  we 
should  have  been  masters  of  Europe." 

As  he  spoke,  he  looked  around  as  if  seeking  as- 
sent; but  the  students  scowled,  and  no  one  replied. 

At  last  Zimmer  rose. 

"  Come,  Joseph,"  said  he;  "I  know  nothing  of 
politics,  but  I  insist  that  we  should  give  no  armis- 
tice to  those  beggars.  When  they  are  down  we 
should  keep  them  there." 

After  we  had  paid  our  reckoning,  and  were  once 
more  in  the  street,  he  continued: 

"  I  do  not  know  what  was  the  matter  with  those 
people  to-day.  We  must  have  disturbed  them  in 
something." 

"  It  is  very  possible,"  I  replied.  "  They  cer- 
tainly did  not  seem  like  the  good-natured  folks  you 
were  speaking  of." 

"  No,"  said  he.  "  Those  young  fellows  are  far 
beneath  the  old  students  I  have  seen.  They  passed 
— I  might  say — their  lives  at  the  brewery.  They 
drank  twenty  and  sometimes  thirty  glasses  a  day; 
even  I,  Joseph,  had  no  chance  with  such  fellows. 
Five  or  six  of  them  whom  they  called  '  seniors ' 
had  gray  beards  and  a  venerable  appearance.  We 
sang  Fan  fan  la  Tulipe  and  '  King  Dagobert '  to- 
gether, which  are  not  political  songs,  you  know. 
But  these  fellows  are  good  for  nothing." 


THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT          201 

I  knew  afterward,  that  those  students  were  mem- 
bers of  the  Tugend-bund. 

On  returning  to  the  hospital,  after  having  had 
a  good  dinner  and  drank  a  bottle  of  wine  apiece 
in  the  inn  of  La  Grappe  in  the  Rue  de  Tilly,  we 
learned  that  we  were  to  go,  that  same  evening,  to 
the  barracks  of  Rosenthal — a  sort  of  depot  for 
wounded,  near  Lutzen,  where  the  roll  was  called 
morning  and  evening,  but  where,  at  all  other  times, 
we  were  at  liberty  to  do  as  we  pleased.  Every 
three  days,  the  surgeon  made  his  visit;  as  soon  as 
one  was  well,  he  received  his  order  to  march  to  re- 
join his  corps. 

One  may  imagine  the  condition  of  from  twelve 
to  fifteen  hundred  poor  wretches  clothed  in  gray 
great-coats  with  leaden  buttons,  shakos  shaped 
like  flower-pots,  and  shoes  worn  out  by  marches 
and  counter-marches — pale,  weak,  most  of  them 
without  a  sou,  in  a  rich  city  like  Leipzig.  We  did 
not  cut  much  of  a  figure  among  these  students, 
these  good  citizens  and  smiling  young  women,  who, 
despite  our  glory,  looked  on  us  as  vagabonds. 

All  the  fine  stories  of  my  comrade  only  made  me 
feel  my  situation  more  bitterly. 

It  is  true  that  we  were  formerly  well  received, 
but  in  those  days  our  men  did  not  always  act  hon- 
estly by  those  who  treated  them  like  brothers,  and 


202          THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

now  doors  were  slammed  in  our  faces.  We  were 
reduced  to  the  necessity  of  contemplating  squares, 
churches,  and  the  outside  of  sausage-shops,  which 
are  there  very  handsome,  from  morning  till  night. 

We  tried  every  way  of  amusing  ourselves;  the 
idlers  played  at  drogue*  the  younger  ones  drank. 
We  had  also  a  game  called  "  Cat  and  Rat,"  which- 
we  played  in  front  of  the  barracks.  A  stake  was 
planted  in  the  ground,  to  which  two  cords  were 
fastened;  the  rat  held  one  of  these,  and  the  cat 
the  other.  Their  eyes  were  bandaged.  The  cat 
was  armed  with  a  cudgel  and  tried  to  catch  the  rat, 
who  kept  out  of  the  way  as  much  as  he  could,  lis- 
tening for  the  cat's  approach — thus  they  kept  go- 
ing around  on  tiptoe,  and  exhibiting  their  cunning 
to  the  company. 

Zimmer  told  me  that  in  former  times  the  good 
Germans  came  in  crowds  to  see  this  game,  and 
you  could  hear  them  laugh  half  a  league  off  when 
the  cat  touched  the  rat  with  his  club.  But  times 
were  indeed  changed;  every  one  passed  by  now 
without  even  turning  their  heads;  we  only  lost  our 
labor  when  we  tried  to  interest  them  in  our  favor. 

During  the  six  weeks  we  remained  at  Rosenthal, 
Zimmer  and  I  often  wandered  through  the  city  to 

*  A  game  at  cards,  played  among  soldiers,  in  which  the  lose* 
wears  a  forked  stick  on  his  nose  till  he  wins  again. 


THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT          203 

kill  time.  "We  went  by  way  of  the  faubourg  of 
Randstatt  and  pushed  as  far  as  Lindenau,  on  the 
road  to  Lutzen.  There  were  nothing  but  bridges, 
swamps  and  wooded  islets  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach.  There  we  would  eat  an  omelette  with  bacon 
at  the  tavern  of  the  Carp,  and  wash  it  down  with 
a  bottle  of  white  wine.  They  no  longer  gave  us 
credit,  as  after  Jena;  I  believe,  on  the  contrary, 
that  the  innkeeper  would  have  made  us  pay  double 
and  triple,  for  the  honor  of  the  German  Fatherland, 
if  my  comrade  had  not  known  the  price  of  eggs  and 
bacon  and  wine  as  well  as  any  Saxon  among  them. 

In  the  evening,  when  the  sun  was  setting  behind 
the  reeds  of  the  Elster  and  the  Pleisse,  we  returned 
to  the  city  accompanied  by  the  mournful  notes  of 
the  frogs,  which  swarm  in  thousands  in  the  marshes. 

Sometimes  we  would  stop  with  folded  arms  at  the 
railing  of  a  bridge  and  gaze  at  the  old  ramparts  of 
Leipzig,  its  churches,  its  old  ruins,  and  its  castle  of 
Pleissenbourg,  all  glowing  in  the  red  twilight.  The 
city  runs  to  a  point  where  the  Pleisse  and  the  Partha 
branch  off,  and  the  rivers  meet  above.  It  is  in  the 
shape  of  a  fan,  the  faubourg  of  Halle  at  the  handle 
and  the  seven  other  faubourgs  spreading  off.*  We 

*  On  the  English  map  the  river  is  the  Kotha,  not  the  Partha 
(or  Parde),  and  at  the  point  here  alluded  to  it  joins  the  Elster^ 
not  the  Pleisse,  as  stated  previously. — Translator's  Note. 


204          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

gazed  too  at  the  thousand  arms  of  the  Elster  and 
the  Pleisse,  winding  like  threads  among  islands  al- 
ready growing  dark  in  the  twilight,  although  the 
waters  glittered  like  gold.  All  this  seemed  very 
beautiful. 

But  if  we  had  known  that  we  would  one  day  be 
forced  to  cross  these  rivers  under  the  enemy's  can- 
non, after  having  lost  the  most  fearful  and  the 
bloodiest  of  battles,  and  that  entire  regiments  would 
disappear  beneath  those  waters,  which  then  glad- 
dened our  eyes,  I  think  that  the  sight  would  have 
made  us  sad  enough. 

At  other  times  we  would  walk  along  the  bank  of 
the  Pleisse  as  far  as  Mark-Kleeberg.  It  was  more 
than  a  league,  and  every  field  was  covered  with  har- 
vests which  they  were  hastening  to  garner.  The 
people  in  their  great  wagons  seemed  not  to  see  us, 
and  if  we  asked  for  information  they  pretended  not 
to  understand  us.  Zimmer  always  grew  angry.  I 
held  him  back,  telling  him  that  the  beggarly 
wretches  only  sought  a  pretext  for  falling  upon  us, 
and  that  we  had,  besides,  orders  to  humor  them. 

"  Very  good!  "  he  said;  "  but  if  the  war  comes 
this  way,  let  them  look  out!  We  have  over- 
whelmed them  with  benefits  and  this  is  how  they 
receive  us !  " 

But  what  shows  better  yet  the  ill-feeling  of  the 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT          205 

people  toward  us  was  what  happened  us  the  day 
after  the  conclusion  of  the  armistice,  when,  about 
eleven  o'clock,  we  went  together  to  bathe  in  the 
Elster.  We  had  already  thrown  off  our  clothes,  and 
Zimmer  seeing  a  peasant  approaching,  cried : 

"  Holloa,  comrade !    Is  there  any  danger  here  ?  " 

"  iSTo.  Go  in  boldly,"  replied  the  man.  "  It  is 
a  good  place." 

Zimmer,  mistrusting  nothing,  went  some  fifteen 
feet  out.  He  was  a  good  swimmer,  but  his  left  arm 
was  yet  weak,  and  the  strength  of  the  current  car- 
ried him  away  so  quickly  that  he  could  not  even, 
catch  the  branches  of  the  willows  which  hung  over 
him ;  and  were  it  not  that  he  was  carried  to  a  ford, 
where  he  gained  a  footing,  he  would  have  been 
swept  between  two  muddy  islands,  and  certainly 
lost. 

The  peasant  stood  to  see  the  effect  of  his  advice. 
I  was  very  angry,  and  dressed  myself  as  quickly  as 
I  could,  shaking  my  fist  at  him,  but  he  laughed,  and 
ran,  quicker  than  I  could  follow  him,  to  the  city. 
Zimmer  was  wild  with  wrath,  and  wished  to  pursue 
him  to  Connewitz;  but  how  could  we  find  him 
among  three  or  four  hundred  houses,  and  if  we  did 
find  him,  what  could  we  do? 

Finally  we  went  into  the  water  where  there  was 
footing,  and  its  coolness  calmed  us. 


206          THE   STORY    OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

I  remember  how,  as  we  returned  to  Leipzig,  Zim- 
mer  talked  of  nothing  but  vengeance. 

"The  whole  country  is  against  us!  "  cried  he; 
"  the  citizens  look  black  at  us,  the  women  turn  their 
backs,  the  peasants  try  to  drown  us,  and  the  inn- 
keepers refuse  us  credit,  as  if  we  had  not  conquered 
them  three  or  four  times;  and  all  this  conies  of  our 
extraordinary  goodness;  we  should  have  declared 
that  we  were  their  masters!  We  have  granted  to 
the  Germans  kings  and  princes;  we  have  even  made 
dukes,  counts  and  barons  with  the  names  of  their 
villages  ;  we  have  loaded  them  with  honors,  and  see 
their  gratitude! 

"  Instead  of  having  ordered  us  to  respect  the  peo- 
ple, we  should  be  given  full  power  over  them;  then 
the  thieves  would  change  faces  and  treat  us  well,  as 
they  did  in  1806.  Force  is  everything.  In  the  first 
place,  conscripts  are  made  by  force,  for  if  they  were 
not  forced  to  come,  they  would  all  stay  at  home. 
Of  the  conscripts  soldiers  are  made  by  force — by 
discipline  being  taught  them;  with  soldiers  battles 
are  gained  by  force,  and  then  people  are  forced  to 
give  you  everything  :  they  prepare  triumphal 
arches  for  you  and  call  you  heroes  because  they 
are  afraid  of  you  ;  that  is  how  it  is  ! 

"  But  the  Emperor  is  too  good.  If  he  were  not  so 
good  I  would  not  have  been  in  danger  of  drowning 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT          207 

to-day; — the  sight  of  my  uniform  would  have  made 
that  peasant  tremble  at  the  idea  of  telling  me  a  lie." 

So  spoke  Ziinmer,  and  all  this  yet  remains  in  my 
memory.  It  happened  August  12,  1813. 

Returning  to  Leipzig,  we  saw  joy  painted  on  the 
countenances  of  the  inhabitants.  It  did  not  display 
itself  openly;  but  the  citizens,  meeting,  would 
shake  hands  with  an  air  of  huge  satisfaction,  and 
the  general  rejoicing  glistened  even  in  the  eyes  of 
servants  and  the  poorest  workmen. 

Zimmer  said:  "  These  Germans  seem  to  be  merry 
about  something,  they  all  look  so  good-natured." 

"Yes,"  I  replied;  "their  good  humor  comes 
from  the  fine  weather  and  good  harvest." 

It  was  true  the  weather  was  very  fine,  but  when, 
we  reached  the  barracks,  we  found  some  of  our  offi- 
cers at  the  gate,  talking  eagerly  together,  while 
those  who  were  going  by  came  up  to  listen,  and 
then  we  learned  the  cause  of  so  much  joy.  The 
conference  at  Prague  was  broken  off,  and  Austria, 
too,  was  about  to  declare  war  against  us,  which  gave 
us  two  hundred  thousand  more  men  to  take  care  of. 

I  have  learned  since  that  we  then  stood  three 
hundred  thousand  men  against  five  hundred  and 
twenty  thousand,  and  that  among  our  enemies  were 
two  old  French  generals,  Moreau  and  Bernadotte. 
Every  one  can  read  that  in  books,  but  we  did  not 


208          THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

yet  know  it,  and  we  were  sure  of  victory,  for  we  had 
never  lost  a  battle.  The  ill-feeling  of  the  people 
did  not  trouble  us:  in  time  of  war  peasants  and  citi- 
zens are  in  a  manner  reckoned  as  nothing;  they  are 
only  asked  for  money  and  provisions,  which  they  al- 
ways give,  for  they  know  that  if  they  made  the  least 
resistance  they  would  be  stripped  to  the  last  far- 
thing. 

The  day  after  we  got  this  important  news  there 
was  a  general  inspection,  and  twelve  hundred  of  the 
wounded  of  Lutzen  were  ordered  to  rejoin  their 
corps.  They  went  by  companies  with  arms  and  bag- 
gage, some  following  the  road  to  Altenbourg,  which 
runs  along  the  Elster,  and  some  the  road  to  Wurt- 
zen,  farther  to  the  left. 

Zimmer  was  of  the  number,  having  himself  asked 
leave  to  go.  I  went  with  him  just  beyond  the  gate, 
and  there  we  embraced  with  emotion.  I  stayed  be- 
hind, as  my  arm  was  still  weak. 

"We  were  now  not  more  than  five  or  six  hundred, 
among  whom  were  a  number  of  masters  of  arms,  of 
teachers  of  dancing  and  French  elegance — fellows 
to  be  found  at  all  depots  of  wounded.  I  did  not 
care  to  become  acquainted  with  them,  and  my  only 
consolation  was  in  thinking  of  Catharine,  and  some- 
times of  my  old  comrades  Klipfel  and  Zebede,  of 
whom  I  received  no  tidings. 


THE    STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT  209 

It  was  a  sad  enough  life ;  the  people  looked  upon 
us  with  an  evil  eye;  they  dared  say  nothing,  know- 
ing that  the  French  army  was  only  four  days'  march 
away,  and  Bliicher  and  Schwartzenberg  much 
farther.  Otherwise,  how  soon  they  would  have 
fallen  upon  us ! 

One  evening  the  rumor  prevailed  that  we  had 
just  won  a  great  victory  at  Dresden.  There  was 
general  consternation;  the  inhabitants  remained 
shut  up  in  their  houses.  I  went  to  read  the  news- 
paper at  the  "  Bunch  of  Grapes,"  in  the  Rue  de 
Tilly.  The  French  papers  were  there  always  on  the 
table;  no  one  opened  them  but  me. 

But  the  following  week,  at  the  beginning  of  Sep- 
tember, I  saw  the  same  change  in  people's  faces  as 
I  observed  the  day  the  Austrians  declared  against 
us.  I  guessed  we  had  met  some  misfortune,  and  we 
had,  as  I  learned  afterward,  for  the  Paris  papers  said 
nothing  of  it. 

Bad  weather  set  in  at  the  end  of  August,  and  the 
rain  fell  in  torrents.  I  no  longer  left  the  barracks. 
Often,  as  seated  upon  my  bed,  I  gazed  at  the  Elster 
boiling  beneath  the  falling  floods,  and  the  trees,  and 
the  little  islands  swaying  in  the  wind,  I  thought: 
"  Poor  soldiers !  poor  comrades !  What  are  you  do- 
ing now?  "Where  are  you?  On  the  high  road  per- 
haps, or  in  the  open  fields !  " 
14 


210          THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

And  despite  my  sadness  at  living  where  I  was,  I 
remembered  that  I  was  less  to  be  pitied  than  they. 
But  one  day  the  old  Surgeon  Tardieu  made  his 
round  and  said  to  me : 

"  Your  arm  is  strong  again — let  us  see — raise  it 
for  me.  All  right !  all  right !  " 

The  next  day  at  roll-call,  they  passed  me  into  a 
hall  where  there  were  clothing,  knapsacks,  car- 
tridge-boxes and  shoes  in  abundance.  I  received  a 
musket,  two  packets  of  cartridges,  and  marching 
papers  for  the  Sixth  at  Gauernitz,  on  the  Elbe. 
This  was  the  first  of  October.  Twelve  or  fifteen  of 
us  set  out  together,  under  charge  of  a  quartermaster 
of  the  Twenty-seventh  named  Poitevin. 

On  the  road,  one  after  another  left  us  to  take 
the  way  to  his  corps;  but  Poitevin,  four  infantry 
men  and  I,  kept  on  to  the  village  of  Gauernitz. 


XYII 

were  following  the  Wurtzen  high  road,  our 
muskets  slung  on  our  backs,  our  great-coat  capes 
turned  up,  bending  beneath  our  knapsacks,  and 
feeling  down-hearted  enough,  as  you  may  imagine. 
The  rain  was  falling,  and  ran  from  our  shakos  down 
our  necks;  the  wind  shook  the  poplars,  and  their 
yellow  leaves,  fluttering  around  us,  told  of  the  ap- 
proach of  winter.  So  hour  after  hour  passed. 

From  time  to  time,  at  long  intervals,  we  came 
upon  a  village  with  its  sheds,  dunghills  and  gardens, 
surrounded  with  palings.  The  women  standing  be- 
hind their  windows,  with  little  dull  panes,  gazed  at 
us  as  we  went  by  ;  a  dog  bayed  ;  a  man  splitting 
wood  at  his  threshold  turned  to  follow  us  with  his 
eyes,  and  we  kept  on,  on,  splashed  and  muddied  to 
our  necks.  We  looked  back;  from  the  end  of  the 
village  the  road  stretched  on  as  far  as  one  'iiould 
see;  gray  clouds  trailed  along  the  despoiled  fields, 
and  a  few  lean  rooks  were  flying  away,  uttering 
their  melancholy  cry. 

Nothing  could  be  sadder  than  such  a  view;  and 

211 


212 


to  it  was  added  the  thought  that  winter  was  coming 
on,  and  that  soon  we  must  sleep  without  a  roof,  in. 
the  snow.  We  might  well  be  silent,  as  we  were, 
save  the  quartermaster  Poitevin.  He  was  a  vet- 
eran,— sallow,  wrinkled,  with  hollow  cheeks,  mus- 
taches an  ell  long,  and  a  red  nose,  like  all  brandy 
drinkers.  He  had  a  lofty  way  of  speaking,  which 
he  interspersed  with  barrack  slang.  When  the  rain 
came  down  faster  than  ever,  he  cried,  with  a  strange 
burst  of  laughter:  "  Ay,  ay,  Poitevin,  this  will  teach 
you  to  hiss!  "  The  old  drunkard  perceived  that  I 
had  a  little  money  in  my  pocket,  and  kept  near  me, 
saying:  "  Young  man,  if  your  knapsack  tires  you, 
hand  it  to  me."  But  I  only  thanked  him  for  his 
kindness. 

Notwithstanding  my  disgust  at  being  with  a  man 
who  gazed  at  every  tavern  sign  when  we  passed 
through  a  village,  and  said  at  each  one :  "  A  little 
glass  of  something  would  do  us  good  as  the  time 
passes,"  I  could  not  help  paying  for  a  glass  now  and 
then,  so  that  he  did  not  quit  me. 

We  were  nearing  Wurtzen  and  the  rain  was  fall- 
ing in  torrents,  when  the  quartermaster  cried  for 
the  twentieth  time : 

"  Ay,  Poitevin!  Here  is  life  for  you!  This  will 
teach  you  to  hiss !  " 

"  What  sort  of  a  proverb  is  that  of  yours?  "    I 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT          213 

asked ;  "  I  would  like  to  know  how  the  rain  would 
teach  you  to  hiss." 

"  It  is  not  a  proverb,  young  man ;  it  is  an  idea 
which  runs  in  my  head  when  I  try  to  be  cheerful." 

Then,  after  a  moment's  pause,  he  continued : 

"You  must  know,"  said  he,  "that  in  1806, 
when  I  was  a  student  at  Rouen,  I  happened  once 
to  hiss  a  piece  in  the  theatre,  with  a  number  of  other 
young  fellows  like  myself.  Some  hissed,  some  ap- 
plauded ;  blows  wyere  struck,  and  the  police  carried 
us  by  dozens  to  the  watch-house.  The  Emperor, 
hearing  of  it,  said:  '  Since  they  like  fighting  so 
much,  put  them  in  my  armies!  There  they  can 
gratify  their  tastes  !  '  And,  of  course,  the  thing 
was  done ;  and  no  one  dared  hiss  in  that  part  of  the 
country,  not  even  fathers  and  mothers  of  families." 

"  You  were  a  conscript,  then?  "  I  asked. 

"  No,  my  father  had  just  bought  me  a  substitute. 
It  was  one  of  the  Emperor's  jokes  ;  one  of  those 
jokes  which  we  long  remember  ;  twenty  or  thirty 
of  us  are  dead  of  hardship  and  want.  A  few  others, 
instead  of  filling  honorable  positions  in  their  towns, 
such  as  doctors,  judges,  lawyers,  have  become 
old  drunkards.  This  is  what  is  called  a  good 
joke  !  » 

Then  he  began  to  laugh,  looking  at  me  from  the 
corner  of  his  eye.  I  had  become  very  thoughtful, 


214          THE   STORY    OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

and  two  or  three  times  more,  before  we  reached 
Gauernitz,  I  paid  for  the  poor  wretch's  little  glasses 
of  something. 

It  was  about  five  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  we 
were  approaching  the  village  of  Bisa,  when  we  de- 
scried an  old  mill,  with  its  wooden  bridge,  over 
which  a  bridle-path  ran.  We  struck  off  from  the 
road  and  took  this  path,  to  make  a  short  cut  to  the 
village,  when  we  heard  cries  and  shrieks  for  help, 
and,  at  the  same  moment,  two  women,  one  old,  and 
the  other  somewhat  younger,  ran  across  a  garden, 
dragging  two  children  with  them.  They  were  try- 
ing to  gain  a  little  wood  which  bordered  the  road, 
and  at  the  same  moment  we  saw  several  of  our  sol- 
diers come  out  of  the  mill  with  sacks,  while  others 
came  up  from  a  cellar  with  little  casks,  which  they 
hastened  to  place  on  a  cart  standing  near  ;  still  oth- 
ers were  driving  cows  and  horses  from  a  stable,  while 
an  old  man  stood  at  the  door,  with  uplifted  hands, 
as  if  calling  down  Heaven's  curse  upon  them  ;  and 
five  or  six  of  the  evil-minded  wretches  surrounded 
the  miller,  who  was  all  pale,  with  his  eyes  starting 
from  their  sockets. 

The  whole  scene,  the  mill,  the  dam,  the  broken 
windows,  the  flying  women,  our  soldiers  in  fatigue 
caps,  looking  like  veritable  bandits,  the  old  man 
cursing  them,  the  cows  shaking  their  head?  to  throw 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT          215 

off  those  who  were  leading  them,  while  others 
pricked  them  behind  with  their  bayonets — all  seems 
yet  before  me — I  seem  yet  to  see  it. 

"  There,"  cried  the  quartermaster,  "  there  are 
fellows  pillaging.  We  are  not  far  from  the  army." 

"  But  that  is  horrible  !  "  I  cried.  "They  are 
robbers." 

"  Yes,"  returned  the  quartermaster,  coolly  ;  "  it 
is  contrary  to  discipline,  and  if  the  Emperor  knew 
of  it,  they  would  be  shot  like  dogs." 

We  crossed  the  little  bridge,  and  found  the  thieves 
crowded  around  a  cask  which  they  had  tapped,  pass- 
ing around  the  cup.  This  sight  roused  the  quar- 
termaster's indignation,  and  he  cried  majestically  : 

"  By  whose  permission  are  you  plundering  in  this 
way? " 

Several  turned  their  heads,  but  seeing  that  we 
were  but  three,  for  the  rest  of  our  party  had  gone  on, 
one  of  them  replied  : 

"  Ha  !  what  do  you  want,  old  joker?  A  little  of 
the  spoil,  I  suppose.  But  you  need  not  curl  up 
your  mustaches  on  that  account.  Here,  drink  a 
drop." 

The  speaker  held  out  the  cup,  and  the  quarter- 
master took  it  and  drank,  looking  at  me  as  he  did  so. 

"  Well,  young  man,"  said  he,  "  will  you  have 
some,  too?  It  is  famous  wine,  this." 


216          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

"  No,  I  thank  you/'  I  replied. 

Several  of  the  pillaging  party  now  cried  : 

"  Hurry,  there  ;  it  is  time  to  get  back  to  camp." 

"  ~No}  no,"  replied  others  ;  "  there  is  more  to  be 
had  here." 

"  Comrades,"  said  the  quartermaster,  in  a  tone 
of  gentle  reproof  and  warning,  "  you  know,  com- 
rades, you  must  go  gently  about  it." 

"  Yes,  yes,  old  fellow,"  replied  a  drum-major, 
with  half-closed  eyes,  and  a  mocking  smile  ;  "  do 
not  be  alarmed  ;  we  will  pluck  the  pigeon  accord- 
ing to  rule.  We  will  take  care  ;  we  will  take 
care." 

The  quartermaster  said  no  more,  but  seemed 
ashamed  on  my  account.  He  at  length  said  : 

"  What  would  you  have,  young  man?  War  is 
war.  One  cannot  see  himself  starving,  with  food  at 
hand." 

He  was  afraid  I  would  report  him  ;  he  would 
have  remained  with  the  pillagers,  but  for  the  fear  of 
being  captured.  I  replied,  to  relieve  his  mind  : 

"  Those  are  probably  good  fellows,  but  the  sight 
of  a  cup  of  wine  makes  them  forget  everything." 

At  length,  about  ten  o'clock  at  night,  we  saw  the 
bivouac  fires,  on  a  gloomy  hill-side  to  the  right  of  the 
village  of  Gauernitz,  and  of  an  old  castle  from  which 
a  few  lights  also  shone.  Farther  on,  in  the  plain, 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT          217 

a  great  number  of  other  fires  were  burning.  The 
night  was  clear,  and  as  we  approached  the  bivouac, 
the  sentry  challenged  : 

"Who  goes  there?" 

"  France  !  "  replied  the  quartermaster. 

My  heart  beat,  as  I  thought  that,  in  a  few  mo- 
ments, I  should  again  meet  my  old  comrades,  if  they 
were  yet  in  the  world. 

Some  men  of  the  guard  came  forward  from  a  sort 
of  shed,  half  a  musket-shot  from  the  village,  to  find 
out  who  we  were.  The  commandant  of  the  post,  a 
gray-haired  sub-lieutenant,  his  arm  in  a  sling  under 
his  cloak,  asked  us  whence  we  came,  whither  we 
were  going,  and  whether  we  had  met  any  parties  of 
Cossacks  on  our  route.  The  quartermaster  an- 
swered his  questions.  The  lieutenant  informed  us 
that  Souham's  division  had  that  morning  left  Gauer- 
nitz,  and  ordered  us  to  follow  him,  that  he  might 
examine  our  marching-papers  ;  which  we  did  in  si- 
lence, passing  among  the  bivouac  fires,  around  which 
men,  covered  with  dried  mud,  were  sleeping,  in 
groups  of  twenty.  Not  one  moved. 

We  arrived  at  the  officers'  quarters.  It  was  an 
old  brick-kiln,  with  an  immense  roof,  resting  on 
posts  driven  into  the  ground.  A  large  fire  was  burn- 
ing in  it,  and  the  air  was  agreeably  warm.  Around 
it  soldiers  were  sleeping,  with  a  contented  look,  their 


218          THE   STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT 

backs  against  the  wall  ;  the  flames  lighted  up  their 
figures  under  the  dark  rafters.  Near  the  posts  shone 
stacks  of  arms.  I  seem  yet  to  see  these  things  ;  I 
feel  the  kindly  warmth  which  penetrated  me.  I  see 
my  comrades,  their  clothes  smoking,  a  few  paces 
from  the  kiln,  where  they  were  gravely  waiting  un- 
til the  officer  should  have  finished  reading  the 
marching-papers,  by  the  dim,  red  light.  One 
bronzed  old  veteran  watched  alone,  seated  on  the 
ground,  and  mending  a  shoe  with  a  needle  and 
thread. 

The  officer  handed  me  back  my  paper  first,  say- 
ing : 

"  You  will  rejoin  your  battalion  to-morrow,  two 
leagues  hence,  near  Torgau." 

Then  the  old  soldier,  looking  at  me,  placed  his 
hand  upon  the  ground,  to  show  that  there  was  room 
beside  him,  and  I  seated  myself.  I  opened  my 
knapsack,  and  put  on  new  stockings  and  shoes, 
which  I  had  brought  from  Leipzig,  after  which  I 
felt  much  better. 

The  old  man  asked  : 

"  You  are  rejoining  your  corps?  " 

"  Yes  ;  the  Sixth  at  Torgau." 

"  And  you  came  from?  " 

"  The  hospital  at  Leipzig." 

"  That  is  easily  seen,"  said  he  ;  et  you  are  fat  as 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 


219 


a  beadle.  They  fed  you  on  chickens  down  there, 
while  we  were  eating  cow-beef." 

I  looked  around  at  my  sleeping  neighbors.  He 
was  right  ;  the  poor  conscripts  were  mere  skin  and 
bone.  They  were  bronzed  as  veterans,  and  scarcely 
seemed  able  to  stand. 

The  old  man,  in  a  moment,  continued  his  ques- 
tions : 

"  You  were  wounded?  " 

"  Yes,  veteran,  at  Lutzen." 

"  Four  months  in  the  hospital  !  "  said  he,  whis- 
tling ;  "  what  luck  !  I  have  just  returned  from 
Spain,  flattering  myself  that  I  was  going  to  meet  the 
Kaiserliks  of  1807  once  more — sheep,  regular 
sheep — but  they  have  become  worse  than  guerillas. 
Everything  goes  to  the  bad." 

He  said  the  most  of  this  to  himself,  without  pay- 
ing much  attention  to  me,  all  the  while  sewing  his 
shoe,  which  from  time  to  time  he  tried  on,  to  be  sure 
that  the  sewn  part  would  not  hurt  his  foot.  At  last 
he  put  the  thread  in  his  knapsack,  and  the  shoe 
upon  his  foot,  and  stretched  himself  upon  a  truss  of 
straw. 

I  was  too  fatigued  to  sleep  at  once,  and  for  an 
hour  lay  awake. 

In  the  morning  I  set  out  again  with  the  quarter- 
master Poitevin,  and  three  other  soldiers  of  Sou- 


220         THE  STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

ham's  division.  Our  route  lay  along  the  bank  of 
the  Elbe  ;  the  weather  was  wet  and  the  wind  swept 
fiercely  over  the  river,  throwing  the  spray  far  on  the 
land. 

We  hastened  on  for  an  hour,  when  suddenly  the 
quartermaster  cried  : 

"  Attention  !  " 

He  had  halted  suddenly,  and  stood  listening.  We 
could  hear  nothing  but  the  sighing  of  the  wind 
through  the  trees,  and  the  splash  of  the  waves  ;  but 
his  ear  was  finer  than  ours. 

"  They  are  skirmishing  yonder,"  said  he,  point- 
ing to  a  wood  on  our  right.  "  The  enemy  may  be 
near  us,  and  the  best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  enter  the 
wood  and  pursue  our  way  cautiously.  We  can  see 
at  the  other  end  of  it  what  is  going  on  ;  and  if  the 
Prussians  or  Russians  are  there,  we  can  beat  a  re- 
treat without  their  perceiving  us.  If  they  are 
French,  we  will  go  on." 

We  all  thought  the  quartermaster  was  right  ; 
and,  in  my  heart,  I  admired  the  shrewdness  of  the 
old  drunkard.  We  kept  on  toward  the  wood,  Poite- 
vin  leading,  and  the  others  following,  with  our 
pieces  cocked.  We  marched  slowly,  stopping  every 
hundred  paces  to  listen.  The  shots  grew  nearer  ; 
they  were  fired  at  intervals,  and  the  quartermaster 
said  : 


THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT  221 

"  They  are  sharp-shooters  reconnoitring  a  body 
of  cavalry,  for  the  firing  is  all  on  one  side." 

It  was  true.  In  a  few  moments  we  perceived, 
through  the  trees,  a  battalion  of  French  infantry 
about  to  make  their  soup,  and  in  the  distance,  on 
the  plain  beyond,  platoons  of  Cossacks  defiling  from 
one  village  to  another.  A  few  skirmishers  along 
the  edge  of  the  wood  were  firing  on  them,  but  they 
were  almost  beyond  musket-range. 

"  There  are  your  people,  young  man,"  said  Poite- 
vin.  "  You  are  at  home." 

He  had  good  eyes  to  read  the  number  of  a  regi- 
ment at  such  a  distance.  I  could  only  see  ragged 
soldiers  with  their  cheeks  and  famine-glistening 
eyes.  Their  great-coats  were  twice  too  large  for 
them,  and  fell  in  folds  along  their  bodies  like  cloaks. 
I  say  nothing  of  the  mud  ;  it  was  everywhere.  K~o 
wonder  the  Germans  were  exultant,  even  after  our 
victory  at  Dresden. 

We  went  toward  a  couple  of  little  tents,  before 
which  three  or  four  horses  were  nibbling  the  scanty 
grass.  I  saw  Colonel  Lorain,  \vho  now  commanded 
the  Third  battalion — a  tall,  thin  man,  with  brown 
mustaches  and  a  fierce  air.  He  looked  at  me 
frowningly,  and  when  I  showed  my  papers,  only 
said  : 

"  Go  and  rejoin  your  company." 


222          THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

I  started  off,  thinking  that  I  would  recognize  some 
of  the  Fourth  ;  but,  since  Lutzen,  companies  had 
been  so  mingled  with  companies,  regiments  with 
regiments,  and  divisions  with  divisions,  that,  on  ar- 
riving at  the  camp  of  the  grenadiers,  I  knew  no  one. 
The  men  seeing  me  approach,  looked  distrustfully 
at  me,  as  if  to  say : 

"  Does  he  want  some  of  our  beef?  Let  us  see 
what  he  brings  to  the  pot  !  " 

I  was  almost  ashamed  to  ask  for  my  company, 
when  a  bony  veteran,  with  a  nose  long  and  pointed 
like  an  eagle's  beak,  and  a  worn-out  coat  hanging 
from  his  shoulders,  lifting  his  head,  and  gazing  at 
me,  said  quietly  : 

"  Hold  !  It  is  Joseph.  I  thought  he  was  buried 
four  months  ago." 

Then  I  recognized  my  poor  Zebede.  My  appear- 
ance seemed  to  affect  him,  for,  without  rising,  he 
squeezed  my  hand,  crying  : 

"  Klipfel  !  here  is  Joseph  !  " 

Another  soldier,  seated  near  a  pot,  turned  his 
head,  saying  : 

"  It  is  you,  Joseph,  is  it?  Then  you  were  not 
killed." 

This  was  all  my  welcome.  Misery  had  made 
them  so  selfish  that  they  thought  only  of  themselves. 
But  Zebede  was  always  good-hearted  ;  he  made  me 


THE   STORY    OF  A   CONSCRIPT 


223 


sit  near  him,  throwing  a  glance  at  the  others  that 
commanded  respect,  and  offered  me  his  spoon,  which 
he  had  fastened  to  the  button-hole  of  his  coat.  I 
thanked  him,  and  produced  from  my  knapsack  a 
dozen  sausages,  a  good  loaf  of  bread,  and  a  flask  of 
brandy,  which  I  had  the  foresight  to  purchase  at 
Risa.  I  handed  a  couple  of  the  sausages  to  Zebede, 
who  took  them  with  tears  in  his  eyes.  I  was  also 
going  to  offer  some  to  the  others  ;  but  he  put  his 
hand  on  my  arm,  saying  : 

"  What  is  good  to  eat  is  good  to  keep." 

"We  retired  from  the  circle  and  ate,  drinking  at 
the  same  time  ;  the  rest  of  the  soldiers  said  nothing, 
but  looked  wistfully  at  us.  Klipfel,  smelling  the 
sausages,  turned  and  said  : 

"  Holloa  !  Joseph  !  Come  and  eat  with  us. 
Comrades  are  always  comrades,  you  know." 

"  That  is  all  very  well,"  said  Zebede  ;  "  but  I 
find  meat  and  drink  the  best  comrades." 

He  shut  up  my  knapsack  himself,  saying  : 

"  Keep  that,  Joseph.  I  have  not  been  so  well  re- 
galed for  more  than  a  month.  You  shall  not  lose 
by  it." 

A  half-hour  after,  the  recall  was  beaten  ;  the 
skirmishers  came  in,  and  Sergeant  Pinto,  who  was 
among  the  number,  recognized  me,  and  said  : 

"  "Well ;  so  you  have  escaped  1     But  you  came 


224          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

back  in  an  evil  moment  !  Things  go  wrong — • 
wrong  !  " 

The  colonel  and  commandants  mounted,  and  we 
began  moving.  The  Cossacks  withdrew.  "We 
marched  with  arms  at  will  ;  Zebede  was  at  my  side 
and  related  all  that  passed  since  Lutzen  ;  the  great 
victories  of  Bautzen  and  Wurtschen  ;  the  forced 
marches  to  overtake  the  retreating  enemy  ;  the 
inarch  on  Berlin  ;  then  the  armistice,  during  which 
we  were  encamped  in  the  little  towns  ;  then  the  ar- 
rival of  the  veterans  of  Spain — men  accustomed  to 
pillaging  and  living  on  the  peasantry. 

Unfortunately,  at  the  close  of  the  armistice  all 
were  against  us.  The  country  people  looked  on 
us  with  horror  ;  they  cut  the  bridges  down,  and 
kept  the  Russians  and  Prussians  informed  of  all  our 
movements,  and  whenever  any  misfortune  happened 
us,  instead  of  helping  us,  they  tried  to  force  us  deep- 
er in  the  mire.  The  great  rains  came  to  finish  us, 
and  the  day  of  the  battle  of  Dresden  it  fell  so  heavily 
that  the  Emperor's  hat  hung  down  upon  his  shoul- 
ders. But  when  victorious,  we  only  laughed  at 
these  things  ;  we  felt  warm  just  the  same,  and  we 
could  change  our  clothes.  But  the  r/orst  of  all  was 
when  we  were  beaten,  and  flying  through  the  mud 
— hussars,  dragoons,  and  such  gentry  on  our  tracks, 
— we  not  knowing  when  we  saw  a  light  in  the  night 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT          225 

whether  to  advance    or    to    perish  in  the  falling 
deluge. 

Zebede  told  me  all  this  in  detail  ;  how,  after  the 
victory  of  Dresden,  General  Vandamme,  who  was 
to  cut  off  the  retreat  of  the  Austrians,  had  penetrat- 
ed to  Kulm  in  his  ardor  ;  and  how  those  whom  we 
had  beaten  the  day  before  fell  upon  him  on  all  sides, 
front,  flank,  and  rear,  and  captured  him  and  several 
other  generals,  utterly  destroying  his  corps  d'ormec. 
Two  days  before,  on  the  26th  of  August,  a  similar 
misfortune  happened  to  our  division,  as  well  as  to 
the  Fifth,  Sixth,  and  Eleventh  corps  on  the  heights 
of  Lowenberg.  We  should  have  crushed  the  Prus- 
sians there,  but  by  a  false  movement  of  Marshal 
Macdonald,  the  enemy  surprised  us  in  a  ravine  with 
our  artillery  in  confusion,  our  cavalry  disordered, 
and  our  infantry  unable  to  fire  owing  to  the  pelting 
rain  ;  we  defended  ourselves  with  the  bayonet,  and 
the  Third  battalion  made  its  way,  in  spite  of  the 
Prussian  charges,  to  the  river  Katzbach.  There 
Zebede  received  two  blows  on  his  head  from  the 
butt  of  a  grenadier's  musket,  and  was  thrown  into 
the  river.  The  current  bore  him  along,  while  he 
held  Captain  Arnauld  by  the  arm  ;  and  both  would 
have  been  lost,  if  by  good  luck  the  captain  in  the 
darkness  of  the  night  had  not  seized  the  overhang- 
ing branch  of  a  tree  on  the  other  side,  and  thus  man- 
is 


226         THE  STORY  OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

aged  to  regain  the  bank.  He  told  me  how  all  that 
night,  despite  the  blood  that  flowed  from  his  nose 
and  ears,  he  had  marched  to  the  village  of  Goldberg, 
almost  dead  with  hunger,  fatigue,  and  his  wounds, 
and  how  a  joiner  had  taken  pity  upon  him  and  given 
him  bread,  onions,  and  water.  He  told  me  how, 
on  the  day  following,  the  whole  division,  followed 
by  the  other  corps,  had  marched  across  the  fields, 
each  one  taking  his  own  course,  without  orders,  be- 
cause the  marshals,  generals,  and  all  mounted  offi- 
cers had  fled  as  far  as  possible,  in  the  fear  of  being 
captured.  He  assured  me  that  fifty  hussars  could 
have  captured  them,  one  after  another  ;  but  that  by 
good  fortune,  Bliicher  could  not  cross  the  flooded 
river,  so  that  they  finally  rallied  at  Wolda,  where 
the  drummers  of  every  corps  beat  the  march  for 
their  regiments  at  all  the  corners  of  the  village.  By 
this  means  every  man  extricated  himself  and  fol- 
lowed his  own  drum. 

But  the  happiest  thing  in  this  rout  was,  that  a  lit- 
tle farther  on,  at  Buntzlau,  their  officers  met  them, 
surprised  at  yet  having  troops  to  lead.  This  was 
what  my  comrade  told  me,  to  say  nothing  of  the  dis- 
trust which  we  were  obliged  to  have  of  our  allies, 
who  at  any  moment  might  fall  on  us  unprepared  to 
receive  them.  He  told  me  how  Marshal  Oudinot 
and  Marshal  Ney  had  been  beaten  :  the  first  at 


THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT  227 

Gross-Beeren,  and  the  other  at  Dennewitz.  This 
was  sad  indeed,  for  in  these  retreats  the  conscripts 
died  from  exhaustion,  sickness  and  every  kind  of 
hardship.  The  veterans  of  Spain  and  Germany, 
hardened  by  bad  weather,  could  alone  resist  such 
fatigue. 

"  In  a  word,"  said  Zebede,  "  we  had  everything 
against  us — the  country,  the  continual  rains,  and 
our  own  generals,  who  were  weary  of  all  this.  Some 
of  them  are  dukes  and  princes,  and  grow  tired  of  be- 
ing forever  in  the  mud  instead  of  being  seated  in 
comfortable  arm-chairs  ;  and  others,  like  Van- 
damme,  are  impatient  to  become  marshals,  by  per- 
forming some  grand  stroke.  We  poor  wretches, 
who  have  nothing  to  gain  but  being  crippled  the  rest 
of  our  days,  and  who  are  the  sons  of  peasants  and 
workingmen  who  fought  to  get  rid  of  one  nobility, 
must  perish  to  create  a  new  one  !  " 

I  saw  then  that  the  poorest,  the  most  miserable 
are  not  always  the  most  foolish,  and  that  through 
suffering  they  come  at  last  to  see  the  sorrowful  truth. 
But  I  said  nothing,  and  I  prayed  God  to  give  me 
strength  and  courage  to  support  the  hardships  the 
coming  of  which  these  faults  and  this  injustice  fore- 
told. 

We  were  between  three  armies,  who  were  uniting 
to  crush  us  ;  that  of  the  north,  commanded  by  Ber- 


228          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

nadotte  ;  that  of  Silesia,  commanded  by  Bliicher  ; 
and  the  army  of  Bohemia,  commanded  by  Schwartz- 
enberg.  We  believed  at  one  time  we  were  going 
to  cross  the  Elbe,  to  fall  on  the  Prussians  and 
Swedes  ;  at  another,  that  we  were  about  attacking 
the  Austrians  toward  the  mountains  as  we  had  done 
fifty  times  in  Italy  and  other  places.  But  they  end- 
ed by  understanding  our  movements,  and  when  we 
seemed  to  approach,  they  retired.  They  feared  the 
Emperor  especially,  but  he  could  not  be  at  once  in 
Bohemia  and  Silesia,  and  so  we  were  forced  to  make 
horrible  marches  and  countermarches. 

All  that  the  soldiers  asked,  was  to  fight,  for 
through  marching  and  sleeping  in  the  mud,  half  ra- 
tions and  vermin  had  made  their  lives  a  misery. 
Each  one  prayed  that  all  this  might  end  one  way  or 
the  other.  It  was  too  much  for  human  endurance; 
it  could  not  last. 

I,  myself,  at  the  end  of  a  few  days,  was  weary  of 
such  a  life  ;  my  legs  could  scarcely  support  me,  and 
I  grew  leaner  and  leaner. 

Every  night  we  were  disturbed  by  a  beggar 
named  Thielmann,  who  raised  the  peasantry  against 
us  ;  he  followed  us  like  a  shadow  ;  watched  us 
from  village  to  village,  on  the  heights,  on  the  roads, 
in  the  valleys  ;  his  army  were  all  who  bore  us  a 
grudge,  and  he  had  always  men  enough. 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT          229 

It  was  about  tins  time,  too,  that  the  Bavarians, 
the  Badeners,  and  the  Wurtembergers  declared 
against  us,  so  that  all  Europe  was  upon  us. 

At  length  we  had  the  consolation  of  seeing  that 
the  army  was  collecting  as  for  a  great  battle  ;  in- 
stead of  meeting  Platow's  Cossacks  and  Thielmann's 
partisans  in  the  neighborhood  of  villages,  we  found 
hussars,  chasseurs,  dragoons  from  Spain,  artillery, 
pontoon  trains  on  the  march.  The  rain  still  fell  in 
floods  ;  those  who  could  no  longer  drag  themselves 
along  sat  down  in  the  mud  at  the  foot  of  a  tree  and 
abandoned  themselves  to  their  unhappy  fate. 

The  eleventh  of  October  we  bivouacked  near  the 
village  of  Lousig  ;  the  twelfth  near  GraiTenhein- 
ichen  ;  the  thirteenth  we  crossed  the  Mulda,  and 
saw  the  Old  Guard  defile  across  the  bridge,  and  La- 
Tour-Maubourg.  It  was  announced  that  the  Em- 
peror crossed  too,  but  we  departed  with  Dombrow- 
ski's  division  and  Souham's  corps. 

At  moments  the  rain  would  cease  falling  and  a 
ray  of  autumn  sun  shine  out  from  between  the 
clouds,  and  then  we  could  see  the  whole  army 
marching  ;  cavalry  and  infantry  advancing  from 
all  sides,  on  Leipzig.  On  the  other  side  of  the 
Mulda  glittered  the  bayonets  of  the  Prussians  ;  but 
we  yet  saw  no  Austrians  and  Russians  :  they  doubt- 
less came  from  other  directions. 


230          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

On  the  fourteenth  of  October,  our  battalion  was 
detached  to  reconnoitre  the  village  of  Aaken.  The 
enemy  were  in  force  there,  and  received  us  with  a 
scattering  artillery  fire,  and  we  remained  all  night 
without  being  able  to  light  a  fire,  on  account  of  the 
pouring  rain.  The  next  day  we  set  out  to  rejoin 
our  division  by  forced  marches.  Every  one  said,  I 
know  not  why  : 

"  The  battle  is  approaching  !  the  fight  is  com- 
ing on  !  " 

Sergeant  Pinto  declared  that  he  felt  the  Emperor 
in  the  air.  I  felt  nothing,  but  I  knew  that  we  were 
marching  on  Leipzig,  and  I  thought  to  myself,  "  If 
we  have  a  battle,  God  grant  that  you  do  not  get  an 
ugly  hurt  as  at  Lutzen,  and  that  you  may  see  Cath- 
arine again  !  "  The  night  following  the  weather 
cleared  up  a  little,  thousands  of  stars  shone  out,  and 
we  still  kept  on.  The  next  day,  about  ten  o'clock, 
near  a  village  whose  name  I  cannot  recollect,  we 
were  ordered  to  halt,  and  then  we  felt  a  trembling 
in  the  air.  The  colonel  and  Sergeant  Pinto  said  : 

"  The  battle  has  begun  !  "  and  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, the  colonel,  waving  his  sword,  cried  : 

"  Forward  !  " 

We  started  at  a  run;  knapsacks,  cartouche-boxes, 
muskets,  mud,  all  drove  on  ;  we  cared  for  nothing. 
Half  an  hour  after  we  saw,  a  few  thousand  paces 


THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT  231 

ahead,  a  long  column,  in  which  followed  artillery, 
cavalry,  and  infantry,  one  after  the  other  ;  behind 
us,  on  the  road  to  Duben,  we  saw  another,  all 
pushing  forward  at  their  utmost  speed.  Regi- 
ments even  advancing  at  the  double  quick  across 
the  fields. 

At  the  end  of  the  road  we  could  see  the  two  spires 
of  the  churches  of  Saint  Nicholas  and  Saint  Thomas 
in  Leipzig,  piercing  the  sky,  while  to  the  right  and 
left,  on  both  sides  of  the  city,  rose  great  clouds  of 
smoke  through  which  broad  flashes  were  darting. 
The  noise  increased  ;  we  were  yet  more  than  a 
league  from  the  city,  but  we  were  forced  to  almost 
shout  to.  hear  each  other,  and  men  gazed  around, 
pale  as  death,  seeming  by  their  looks  to  say  : 

"  This  is  indeed  a  battle?  " 

Sergeant  Pinto  cried  that  it  was  worse  than  Ey- 
lau.  He  laughed  no  more,  nor  did  Zebede  ;  but 
on,  on  we  rushed,  officers  incessantly  urging  us 
forward.  We  seemed  to  grow  delirious  ;  the  love 
of  country  was  indeed  striving  within  us,  but 
still  greater  was  the  furious  eagerness  for  the 
fight. 

At  eleven  o'clock  we  descried  the  battle-field 
about  a  league  in  front  of  Leipzig.  We  saw  the 
steeples  and  roofs  crowded  with  people,  and  the  old 
ramparts  on  which  I  had  walked  so  often,  thinking 


232          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

of  Catharine.  Opposite  us,  twelve  or  fifteen  hun- 
dred yards  distant,  two  regiments  of  red  lancers 
were  drawn  up,  and  a  little  to  the  left,  two  or  three 
regiments  of  mounted  chasseurs  in  the  fields  along 
the  Partha,  and  between  them  filed  the  long  column 
from  Duben.  Farther  on,  along  the  slope,  were 
the  divisions  Ricard,  Dombrowski,  Souham,  and  sev- 
eral others,  with  their  rear  to  the  city  ;  cannons  lim- 
bered, with  their  caissons — the  cannoneers  and  artil- 
lerymen on  horseback — stood  ready  to  start  off  ;  and 
far  behind,  on  a  hill,  around  one  of  those  old  farm- 
houses with  flat  roofs  and  immense  outlying  sheds, 
so  often  seen  in  that  country,  glittered  the  brilliant 
uniforms  of  the  staff. 

It  was  the  army  of  reserve,  commanded  by  Ney. 
His  left  wing  communicated  with  Marmont,  who 
was  posted  on  the  road  to  Halle,  and  his  right  with 
the  grand  army,  commanded  by  the  Emperor  in 
person.  In  this  manner  our  troops  formed  an  im- 
mense circle  around  Leipzig  ;  and  the  enemy,  ar- 
riving from  all  points,  sought  to  join  their  divisions 
so  as  to  form  a  yet  larger  circle  around  us,  and  to 
inclose  us  in  Leipzig  as  in  a  trap. 

While  we  waited  thus,  three  fearful  battles  were 
going  on  at  once  :  one  against  the  Austrians  and 
Russians  at  Wachau  ;  another  against  the  Prussians 
at  Mockern  on  the  road  to  Halle  ;  and  the  third  on 


THE   STORY   OF   A  CONSCRIPT 


233 


the  road  to  Lutzen,  to  defend  the  bridge  of  Linde- 
nau,  attacked  by  General  G  iulay. 

These  things  I  learned  afterward  ;  but  every 
one  ought  to  tell  what  he  saw  himself  :  in  this  way 
the  world  will  know  the  truth. 


XVIII 

THE  battalion  was  commencing  to  descend  the 
hill,  opposite  Leipzig,  to  rejoin  our  division,  when 
we  saw  a  staff-officer  crossing  the  plain  below,  and 
coming  at  full  gallop  toward  us.  In  two  minutes 
he  was  with  us  ;  Colonel  Lorain  had  spurred  for- 
ward to  meet  him  ;  they  exchanged  a  few  words, 
and  the  officer  returned.  Hundreds  of  others  were 
rushing  over  the  plain  in  the  same  manner,  bearing 
orders. 

"  Head  of  column  to  the  right  !  "  shouted  the 
colonel. 

We  took  the  direction  of  a  wood,  which  skirts  the 
Duben  road  some  half  a  league.  It  was  a  beech 
forest,  but  in  it  were  birches  and  oaks.  Once  at  its 
borders,  we  were  ordered  to  re-prime  our  guns,  and 
the  battalion  was  deployed  through  the  wood  as 
skirmishers.  We  advanced  twenty-five  paces  apart, 
and  each  of  us  kept  his  eyes  well  opened,  as  may 
be  imagined.  Every  minute  Sergeant  Pinto  would 
cry  out  : 

"  Get  under  cover  !  " 

234 


THE    STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT  235 

But  he  did  not  need  to  warn  us  :  each  one  hast- 
ened to  take  his  post  behind  a  stout  tree,  to  recon- 
noitre well  before  proceeding  to  another.  To  what 
dangers  must  peaceable  people  be  exposed  !  We 
kept  on  in  this  manner  some  ten  minutes,  and,  as  we 
saw  nothing,  began  to  grow  confident,  when  sud- 
denly, one,  two,  three  shots  rang  out.  Then  they 
came  from  all  sides,  and  rattled  from  end  to  end  of 
our  line.  At  the  same  instant  I  saw  my  comrade 
on  the  left  fall,  trying,  as  he  sank  to  the  earth,  to 
support  himself  by  the  trunk  of  the  tree  behind 
which  he  was  standing.  This  roused  me.  I  looked 
to  the  right  and  saw,  fifty  or  sixty  paces  off,  an  old 
Prussian  soldier,  with  his  long  red  mustaches  cov- 
ering the  lock  of  his  piece  ;  he  was  aiming  delib- 
erately at  me.  I  fell  at  once  to  the  ground,  and  at 
the  same  moment  heard  the  report.  It  was  a  close 
escape,  for  the  comb,  brush,  and  handkerchief  in  my 
shako  were  broken  and  torn  by  the  bullet.  A  cold 
shiver  ran  through  me. 

"  Well  done  !  a  miss  is  as  good  as  a  mile  !  "  cried 
the  old  sergeant,  starting  forward  at  a  run,  and  I, 
who  had  no  wish  to  remain  longer  in  such  a  place, 
followed  with  right  good-will. 

Lieutenant  Bretonville,  waving  his  sabre,  cried, 
"  Forward  !  "  while,  to  the  right,  the  firing  still 
continued.  We  soon  arrived  at  a  clearing,  where 


236          THE   STORY    OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

lay  five  or  six  trunks  of  felled  trees,  and  a  little  lake 
full  of  high  grass,  but  not  a  tree  standing,  that  might 
serve  us  for  a  cover.  Nevertheless,  five  or  six  of  our 
men  advanced  boldly,  when  the  sergeant  called  out  : 

"  Halt  !  The  Prussians  are  in  ambush  around  us. 
Look  sharp  !  " 

Scarcely  had  he  spoken,  when  a  dozen  bullets 
whistled  through  the  branches,  and  at  the  same  time, 
a  number  of  Prussians  rose,  and  plunged  deeper  into 
the  forest  opposite. 

"  There  they  go  !     Forward  !  "  cried  Pinto. 

But  the  bullet  in  my  shako  had  rendered  me 
cautious  ;  it  seemed  as  if  I  could  almost  see  througli 
the  trees,  and,  as  the  sergeant  started  forth  into  the 
clearing,  I  held  his  arm,  pointing  out  to  him  the 
muzzle  of  a  musket  peeping  out  from  a  bush,  not  a 
hundred  paces  before  us.  The  others,  clustering 
around,  saw  it  too,  and  Pinto  whispered  : 

"  Stay,  Bertha  ;  remain  here  and  do  not  lose 
sight  of  him,  while  we  turn  the  position." 

They  set  off,  to  the  right  and  left,  and  I,  behind 
my  tree,  my  piece  at  my  shoulder,  waited  like  a 
hunter  for  his  game.  At  the  end  of  two  or  three 
minutes,  the  Prussian,  hearing  nothing,  rose  slowly. 
He  was  quite  a  boy,  with  little  blonde  mustaches, 
and  a  tall,  slight,  but  well-knit  figure.  I  could  have 
killed  him  as  he  stood,  but  the  thought  of  thus  slay- 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT          237 

ing  a  defenceless  man  froze  my  blood.  Suddenly 
he  saw  me,  and  bounded  aside.  Then  I  fired,  and 
breathed  more  freely  as  I  saw  him  running,  like  a 
stag,  toward  the  wood. 

At  the  same  moment,  five  or  six  reports  rang  out 
to  the  right  and  left  ;  the  sergeant  Zebede,  Klipfel, 
and  the  rest  appeared,  and  a  hundred  paces  farther 
on  we  found  the  young  Prussian  upon  the  ground 
blood  gushing  from  his  mouth.  He  gazed  at  us 
with  a  scared  expression,  raising  his  arms,  as  if  to 
parry  bayonet-thrusts,  but  the  sergeant  called  glee- 
fully to  him  : 

"  Fear  nothing  !     Your  account  is  settled." 

No  one  offered  to  injure  him  further  ;  but  Klip- 
fel took  a  beautiful  pipe,  which  was  hanging  out  of 
his  pocket,  saying  : 

"  For  a  long  time  I  have  wanted  a  pipe,  and  here 
is  a  fine  one." 

"  Fusileer  Klipfel  !  "  cried  Pinto,  indignantly, 
"will  you  be  good  enough  to  put  back  that  pipe? 
Leave  it  to  the  Coss?cks  to  rob  the  wounded  !  A 
French  soldier  knows  only  honor  !  " 

Klipfel  threw  down  the  pipe  and  we  departed, 
not  one  caring  to  look  back  at  the  wounded  Prus- 
sian. We  arrived  at  the  edge  of  the  forest,  outside 
which,  among  tufted  bushes,  the  Prussians  we  pur- 
sued had  taken  refuge.  We  saw  them  rise  to  fire 


238          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

upon  us,  but  they  immediately  lay  down  again.  "We 
might  have  remained  there  tranquilly,  since  we  had 
orders  to  occupy  the  wood,  and  the  shots  of  the 
Prussians  could  not  hurt  us,  protected  as  we  were  by 
the  trees.  On  the  other  side  of  the  slope  we  heard 
a  terrific  battle  going  on  ;  the  thunder  of  cannon 
was  increasing,  it  filled  the  air  with  one  continuous 
roar.  But  our  officers  held  a  council,  and  decided 
that  the  bushes  were  a  part  of  the  forest,  and  that 
the  Prussians  must  be  driven  from  them.  This  de- 
termination cost  many  a  life. 

We  received  orders,  then,  to  drive  the  enemy's 
tirailleurs,  and  as  they  fired  as  we  came  on,  we  start- 
ed at  a  run,  so  as  to  be  upon  them  before  they  could 
reload.  Our  officers  ran,  also  full  of  ardor.  We 
thought  the  bushes  ended  at  the  top  of  the  hill,  and 
that  we  could  sweep  off  the  Prussians  by  dozens. 
But  scarcely  had  we  arrived,  out  of  breath,  upon  the 
ridge,  when  old  Pinto  cried  : 

"  Hussars  !  " 

I  looked  up,  and  saw  the  Colbacks  rushing  down 
upon  us  like  a  tempest.  Scarcely  had  I  seen  them, 
when  I  began  to  spring  down  the  hill,  going,  I  verily 
believe,  in  spite  of  weariness  and  my  knapsack,  fif- 
teen feet  at  a  bound.  I  saw  before  me,  Pinto, 
Zebede,  and  the  others,  making  their  best  speed. 
Behind,  on  came  the  hussars,  their  officers  shouting 


THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT  239 

orders  in  German,  their    scabbards    clanking  and 
horses  neighing.     The  earth  shook  beneath  them. 

I  took  the  shortest  road  to  the  wood,  and  had  al- 
most reached  it,  when  I  came  upon  one  of  the 
Trenches  where  the  peasants  were  in  the  habit  of 
digging  clay  for  their  houses.  It  was  more  than 
twenty  feet  wide,  and  forty  or  fifty  long,  and  the 
rain  had  made  the  sides  very  slippery  ;  but  as  I 
heard  the  very  breathing  of  the  horses  behind  me, 
while  my  hair  rose  on  my  head,  without  thinking 
of  aught  else,  I  sprang  forward,  and  fell  upon  my 
face  :  another  fusileer  of  my  company  was  already 
there.  We  rose  as  soon  as  we  could,  and  at  the  same 
instant  two  hussars  glided  down  the  slippery  side  of 
the  trench.  The  first,  cursing  like  a  fiend,  aimed  a 
sabre-stroke  at  my  poor  comrade's  head,  but  as  he 
rose  in  his  stirrups  to  give  force  to  the  blow  I  buried 
my  bayonet  in  his  side,  while  the  other  brought 
down  his  blade  upon  my  shoulder  with  such  force, 
that,  were  it  not  for  my  epaulette,  I  believe  that  T 
had  been  wellnigh  cloven  in  two.  Then  he  lunged, 
but  as  the  point  of  his  sabre  touched  my  breast,  a 
bullet  from  above  crashed  through  his  skull.  I 
looked  around,  and  saw  one  of  our  men,  up  to  his 
knees  in  the  clay.  He  had  heard  the  oaths  of  the 
hussars  and  the  neighing  of  the  horses,  and  had  come 
to  the  edge  of  the  trench  to  see  what  "was  going  on. 


240          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

"  Well,  comrade,"  said  he,  laughing,  "  it  was 
about  time." 

I  had  not  strength  to  reply,  but  stood  trem- 
bling like  an  aspen  leaf.  He  unfixed  his  bayonet, 
and  stretched  the  muzzle  of  his  piece  to  me  to  help 
me  out.  Then  I  squeezed  his  hand,  saying  : 

"  You  saved  my  life  !     What  is  your  name?  " 

He  told  me  that  his  name  was  Jean  Pierre  Vin- 
cent. I  have  often  since  thought  that  I  should  be 
only  too  happy  to  render  that  man  any  service  in  my 
power  ;  but  two  days  after,  the  second  battle  of 
Leipzig  took  place  ;  then  the  retreat  from  Hariau 
began,  and  I  never  saw  him  again. 

Sergeant  Pinto  and  Zebede  came  up  a  moment 
after.  Zebede  said  : 

"  We  have  escaped  once  more,  Joseph,  and  now 
we  are  the  only  Phalsbourg  men  in  the  battalion. 
Klipfel  was  sabred  by  the  hussars." 

"  Did  you  see  him?  "  I  cried. 

"  Yes  ;  he  received  over  twenty  wounds,  and  kept 
calling  to  me  for  aid."  Then,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  he  added,  "  O  Joseph  !  it  is  terrible  to  hear 
the  companion  of  your  childhood  calling  for  help, 
and  not  be  able  to  give  it  !  But  they  were  too 
many.  They  surrounded  him  on  all  sides. " 

The  thoughts  of  home  rushed  upon  both  our 
minds.  I  thought  I  could  see  grandmother  Klipf  el 


THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT  241 

when  she  would  learn  the  news,  and  this  made  me 
think  too  of  Catharine. 

From  the  time  of  the  charge  of  the  hussars  until 
night,  the  battalion  remained  in  the  same  position, 
skirmishing  with  the  Prussians.  "We  kept  them 
from  occupying  the  wood  ;  but  they  prevented  us 
from  ascending  to  the  ridge.  The  next  day  we 
knew  why.  The  hill  commanded  the  entire  course 
of  the  Partha,  and  the  fierce  cannonade  we  heard 
came  from  Dombrowski's  division,  which  was  attack- 
ing the  Prussian  left  wing,  in  order  to  aid  General 
Marmont  at  Mockern,  where  twenty  thousand 
French,  posted  in  a  ravine,  were  holding  eighty 
thousand  of  Bliicher's  troops  in  check;  while  toward 
"VYachau  a  hundred  and  fifteen  thousand  French 
were  engaged  with  two  hundred  thousand  Austrians 
and  Russians.  More  than  fifteen  hundred  cannon 
were  thundering  at  once.  Our  poor  little  fusillade 
was  like  the  humming  of  a  bee  in  a  storm,  and  we 
sometimes  ceased  firing,  on  both  sides,  to  listen.  It 
seemed  as  if  some  supernatural,  infernal  battle 
were  going  on  ;  the  air  was  filled  with  smoke  ; 
the  earth  trembled  beneath  our  feet  :  our  soldiers 
like  Pinto  declared  they  had  never  seen  anything 
like  it. 

About  six  o'clock,  a  staff-officer  brought  orders 

to  Colonel  Lorain,  and  immediately  after  a  retreat 
16 


242          THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

was  sounded.  The  battalion  had  lost  sixty 
men  by  the  charge  of  Russian  hussars  and  the 
musketry. 

It  was  night  when  we  left  the  forest,  and  on  the 
banks  of  the  Partha — among  caissons,  wagons,  re- 
treating divisions,  ambulances  filled  with  wounded, 
all  defiling  over  the  two  bridges — we  had  to  wait 
more  than  two  hours  for  our  turn  to  cross.  The 
heavens  were  black  ;  the  artillery  still  growled  afar 
off,  but  the  three  battles  were  ended.  We  heard 
that  we  had  beaten  the  Austrians  and  the  Russians 
at  Wachau,  on  the  other  side  of  Leipzig  ;  but  our 
men  returning  from  Mockern  were  downcast  and 
gloomy  ;  not  a  voice  cried  Vive  I'Empereur!  as- 
after  a  victory. 

Once  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  the  battalion 
proceeded  down  the  Partha  a  good  half-league,  as 
far  as  the  village  of  Schoenfeld  ;  the  night  was 
damp  ;  we  marched  along  heavily,  our  muskets  on 
our  shoulders,  our  heads  bent  down,  and  our  eyes 
closing  for  want  of  sleep. 

Behind  us  the  great  column  of  cannon,  caissons, 
baggage-wagons  and  troops  retreating  from  Mock- 
ern filled  the  air  with  a  hoarse  murmur,  and  from 
time  to  time  the  cries  of  the  artillerymen  and  team- 
sters, shouting  to  make  room,  arose  above  the  tu- 
mult. But  these  noises  insensibly  grew  less,  and  we 


THE    STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT 


243 


at  length  reached  a  burial-ground,  where  we  were 
ordered  to  stack  arms  and  break  ranks. 

By  this  time  the  sky  had  cleared,  and  I  recognized 
Schoenf eld  in  the  moonlight.  How  often  had  I  eat- 
en bread  and  drank  white  wine  with  Zimmer  there 
at  the  Golden  Sheaf,  when  the  sun  shone  brightly 
and  the  leaves  were  green  around  !  But  those 
times  had  passed  ! 

Sentries  were  posted,  and  a  few  men  went 
to  the  village  for  wood  and  provisions.  I  sat 
against  the  cemetery  wall,  and  at  length  fell 
asleep.  About  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  I  was 
awoke. 

It  was  Zebede.  "  Joseph,"  said  he,  "  come  to 
the  fire.  If  you  remain  here,  you  run  the  risk  of 
catching  the  fever." 

I  arose,  sick  with  fatigue  and  suffering.  A  fine 
rain  filled  the  air.  My  comrade  drew  me  toward 
the  fire,  which  smoked  in  the  drizzling  atmosphere  ; 
it  seemed  to  give  out  no  heat  ;  but  Zebede  having 
made  me  drink  a  draught  of  brandy  I  felt  at  least 
less  cold,  and  gazed  at  the  bivouac  fires  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Partha. 

"  The  Prussians  are  warming  themselves  in  our 
wood,"  said  Zebede. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied  ;  "  and  poor  Klipfel  is  there 
too,  but  he  no  longer  feels  the  cold." 


244          THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

My  teeth  chattered.  These  words  saddened  us 
both.  A  few  moments  after  Zebede  resumed  : 

"  Do  you  remember,  Joseph,  the  black  ribbon  he 
wore  the  day  of  the  conscription,  and  how  he  cried, 
'  we  are  all  condemned  to  death,  like  those  gone  to 
Russia?  I  want  a  black  ribbon.  We  must  wear 
our  own  mourning  ! '  And  his  little  brother  said  : 
f  No,  no,  Jacob,  I  do  not  want  it  !  '  and  wept  !  but 
Klipfel  put  on  the  black  ribbon  notwithstanding  ; 
he  saw  the  hussars  in  his  dreams." 

As  Zebede  spoke,  I  recalled  those  things,  and  I 
saw  too  that  wretch  Pinacle  on  the  Town  Hall 
Square,  calling  me  and  shaking  a  black  ribbon  over 
his  head  :  "  Ha,  cripple  !  you  must  have  a  fine  rib- 
bon ;  the  ribbon  of  those  who  win  !  " 

This  remembrance,  together  with  the  cold,  which 
seemed  to  freeze  the  very  marrow  in  our  bones,  made 
me  shudder.  I  thought  Pinacle  was  right  ;  that  I 
had  seen  the  last  of  home.  I  thought  of  Catharine, 
of  Aunt  Gredel,  of  good  Monsieur  Goulden,  and  I 
cursed  those  who  had  forced  me  from  them. 

At  daybreak,  wagons  arrived  with  food  and 
brandy  for  us  ;  the  rain  had  ceased  ;  we  made  soup, 
but  nothing  could  warm  me  ;  I  had  caught  the 
fever  ;  within  I  was  cold  while  my  body  burned.  I 
was  not  the  only  one  in  the  battalion  in  that  condi- 
tion ;  three-fourths  of  the  men  were  suffering  from 


THE    STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT  2. ,5 

it  :  and,  for  a  month  before,  those  who  could  no 
longer  march  had  lain  down  by  the  roadside  weep- 
ing and  calling  upon  their  mothers  like  little  chil- 
dren. Hunger,  forced  marches,  the  rain,  arid  grief 
had  done  their  work,  and  happy  was  it  for  the  par- 
ents that  they  could  not  see  their  cherished  sons  per- 
ishing along  the  road  ;  it  would  be  too  fearful  ; 
many  would  think  there  was  no  mercy  in  earth  or 
heaven. 

As  the  light  increased,  we  saw  to  the  left,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river — and  of  a  great  ravine  filled 
with  willows  and  aspens — burnt  villages,  heaps  of 
dead,  abandoned  wagons,  broken  caissons,  dismount- 
ed cannon  and  ravaged  fields  stretched  as  far  as  the 
eye  could  reach  on  the  Halle,  Lindenthal  and  D6- 
litch  roads.  It  was  worse  than  at  Lutzen.  We  saw 
the  Prussians  deploy,  and  advance  their  thousands 
over  the  battle-field.  They  were  to  join  with  the 
Russians  and  Austrians  and  close  the  great  circle 
around  us,  and  we  could  not  prevent  them,  espe- 
cially as  Bernadotte  and  the  Russian  General  Ben- 
ingsen  had  come  up  with  twenty  thousand  fresh 
troops.  Thus,  after  fighting  three  battles  in  one 
day,  were  we,  only  one  hundred  and  thirty  thousand 
strong,  seemingly  about  to  be  entrapped  in  the  midst 
of  three  hundred  thousand  bayonets,  not  to  speak  of 
fifty  thousand  horse  and  twelve  hundred  cannon. 


246          THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

From  Schcenfeld,  the  battalion  started  to  rejoin 
the  division  at  Kohlgarten.  All  the  roads  were 
lined  with  slow-moving  ambulances,  filled  with 
wounded  ;  all  the  wagons  of  the  country  around  had 
been  impressed  for  this  service  ;  and,  in  the  inter- 
vals between  them,  marched  hundreds  of  poor  fel- 
lows with  their  arms  in  slings,  or  their  heads  ban- 
daged— pale,  crestfallen,  half  dead.  All  who  could 
drag  themselves  along  kept  out  of  the  ambulances, 
but  tried  nevertheless  to  reach  a  hospital.  "We  made 
our  way,  with  a  thousand  difficulties,  through  this 
mass,  when,  near  Kohlgarten,  twenty  hussars,  gal- 
loping at  full  speed,  and  with  levelled  pistols,  drove 
back  the  crowd,  right  and  left,  into  the  fields,  shout- 
ing, as  they  pressed  on  : 

"  The  Emperor  !    the  Emperor  !  " 

The  battalion  drew  up,  and  presented  arms  ;  and 
a  few  moments  after,  the  mounted  grenadiers  of  the 
guard — veritable  giants,  with  their  great  boots,  their 
immense  bear-skin  hats,  descending  to  their  shoul- 
ders and  only  allowing  their  mustaches,  nose,  and 
eyes  to  remain  visible — passed  at  a  gallop.  Our 
men  looked  joyfully  at  them,  glad  that  such  robust 
warriors  were  on  our  side. 

Scarcely  had  they  passed,  when  the  staff  tore  af- 
ter. Imagine  a  hundred  and  fifty  to  two  hundred 
marshals,  generals,  and  other  superior  officers, 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT  247 

mounted  on  magnificent  steeds,  and  so  covered  with 
embroidery  that  the  color  of  their  uniforms  was 
scarcely  visible  ;  some  tall,  thin,  and  haughty  ; 
others  short,  thick-set,  and  red-faced  ;  others  again 
young  and  handsome,  sitting  like  statues  in  their 
saddles  ;  all  with  eager  look  and  flashing  eyes.  It 
was  a  magnificent  and  terrible  sight. 

But  the  most  striking  figure  among  those  cap- 
tains, who  for  twenty  years  had  made  Europe  trem- 
ble, was  Napoleon  himself,  with  his  old  hat  and 
gray  overcoat  ;  his  large,  determined  chin  and  neck 
buried  between  his  shoulders.  All  shouted  "  Vive 
VEmpereur !  "  but  he  heard  nothing  of  it.  He 
paid  no  more  attention  to  us  than  to  the  drizzling 
rain  which  filled  the  air,  but  gazed  with  contracted 
brows  at  the  Prussian  army  stretching  along  the 
Partha  to  join  the  Austrians.  So  I  saw  him  on  that 
day  and  so  he  remains  in  my  memory.  The  bat- 
talion had  been  on  the  march  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  when  at  length  Zebede  said  : 

"  Did  you  see  him,  Joseph  ?  " 

"  I  did,"  I  replied;  "  I  saw  him  well,  and  I  will 
remember  the  sight  all  my  life." 

"  It  is  strange,"  said  my  comrade;  "  he  does  not 
seem  to  be  pleased.  At  Wurschen,  the  day  after 
the  battle,  he  seemed  rejoiced  to  hear  our  '  Vive 
VEmpereur!  '  and  the  generals  all  wore  merry  faces 


248          THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT 

too.  To-day  they  seem  savage,  and  nevertheless 
the  captain  said  that  we  bore  oft'  the  victory  on  the 
other  side  of  Leipzig." 

Others  thought  the  same  thing  without  speaking 
of  it,  but  there  was  a  growing  uneasiness  among  all. 

We  found  the  regiment  bivouacked  near  Kohl- 
garten.  In  every  direction  camp-fires  were  rolling 
their  smoke  to  the  sky.  A  drizzling  rain  continued 
to  fall,  and  the  men,  seated  on  their  knapsacks 
around  the  fires,  seemed  depressed  and  gloomy. 
The  officers  formed  groups  of  their  own.  On  all 
sides  it  was  whispered  that  such  a  war  had  never 
before  been  seen;  it  was  one  of  extermination ;  that 
it  did  not  help  us  to  defeat  the  enemy,  for  they  only 
desired  to  kill  us  off,  knowing  that  they  had  four 
or  five  times  our  number  of  men,  and  would  finally 
remain  masters. 

They  said,  too,  that  the  Emperor  had  won  the 
battle  at  Wachau,  against  the  Austrians  and  Rus- 
sians; but  that  the  victory  was  useless,  because  they 
did  not  retreat,  but  stood  awaiting  masses  of  rein- 
forcements. On  the  side  of  Mockern  we  knew  that 
we  had  lost,  in  spite  of  Marmont's  splendid  defence ; 
the  enemy  had  crushed  us  beneath  the  weight  of 
their  numbers.  We  only  had  one  real  advantage 
that  day  on  our  side;  that  was  keeping  our  line 
of  retreat  on  Erfurt :  for  Giulay  had  not  been  able 


THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT 


249 


to  seize  the  bridges  of  the  Elstcr  and  Pleisse.  All 
the  army,  from  the  simple  soldier  to  the  marshal, 
thought  that  we  would  have  to  retreat  as  soon  as 
possible,  and  that  onr  position  was  of  the  worst; 
unfortunately  the  Emperor  thought  otherwise,  and 
we  had  to  remain. 

All  day  on  the  seventeenth  we  lay  in  our  posi- 
tion without  firing  a  shot.  A  few  spoke  of  the  ar- 
rival of  General  Regnier  with  sixteen  thousand 
Saxons;  but  the  defection  of  the  Bavarians  taught 
us  what  confidence  we  could  put  in  our  allies. 

Toward  evening  of  the  next  day,  we  discovered 
the  army  of  the  north  on  the  plateau  of  Breiten- 
feld.  This  was  sixty  thousand  more  men  for  the 
enemy.  I  can  yet  hear  the  maledictions  levelled 
at  Bernadotte — the  cries  of  indignation  of  those 
who  knew  him  as  a  simple  officer  in  the  army  of 
the  Republic,  who  cried  out  that  he  owed  us  all 
— that  we  made  him  a  king  with  our  blood,  and 
that  he  now  came  to  give  us  the  finishing  blow. 

That  night,  a  general  movement  rearward  was 
made;  our  lines  drew  closer  and  closer  around  Leip- 
zig; then  all  became  quiet.  But  this  did  not  pre- 
vent our  reflecting;  on  the  contrary,  every  one 
thought,  in  the  silence: 

"  What  will  to-morrow  bring  forth  ?  Shall  I  at 
this  hour  see  the  moon  rising  among  the  clouds  as 


250          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

I  now  see  her?  Will  the  stars  yet  shine  for  me 
to  see?" 

And  when,  in  the  dim  night,  we  gazed  at  the 
circle  of  fire  which  for  nearly  six  leagues  stretched 
around  us,  we  cried  within  ourselves : 

"  Now  indeed  the  world  is  against  us ;  all  na- 
tions demand  our  extermination;  they  want  no 
more  of  our  glory!  " 

But  we  remembered  that  we  had  the  honor  of 
bearing  the  narne  of  Frenchmen,  and  must  conquer 
or  die. 


XIX 

IN  the  midst  of  such  thoughts,  day  broke.  Noth- 
ing was  stirring  yet,  and  Zebede  said: 

"  What  a  chance  for  us,  if  the  enemy  should  fear 
to  attack  us!  " 

The  officers  spoke  of  an  armistice;  but  suddenly 
about  nine  o'clock,  our  couriers  came  galloping  in, 
crying  that  the  enemy  was  moving  his  whole  line 
down  upon  us,  and  directly  after  we  heard  cannon 
on  our  right,  along  the  Elster.  We  were  already 
under  arms,  and  set  out  across  the  fields  toward  the 
Partha  to  return  to  Schoenfeld.  The  battle  had 
begun. 

On  the  hills  overlooking  the  river,  two  or  three 
divisions,  with  batteries  in  the  intervals,  and  cannon 
at  the  flanks,  awaited  the  enemy's  approach;  be- 
yond, over  the  points  of  their  bayonets,  we  could 
see  the  Prussians,  the  Swedes,  and  the  Russians, 
advancing  on  all  sides  in  deep,  never-ending  masses. 
Shortly  after,  we  took  our  place  in  line,  between 
two  hills,  and  then  we  saw  five  or  six  thousand  Prus- 
sians crossing  the  river,  and  all  together  shouting, 
251 


252          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

"Vaterland!  Vaterland!"  This  caused  a  tre- 
mendous tumult,  like  that  of  clouds  of  rooks  flying 
north. 

At  the  same  instant  the  musketry  opened  from 
both  sides  of  the  river.  The  valley  through  which 
the  Partha  flows  was  filled  with  smoke;  the  Prus- 
sians wrere  already  upon  us — we  could  see  their 
furious  eyes  and  wild  looks;  they  seemed  like  sav- 
age beasts  rushing  down  on  us.  Then  but  one 
shout  of  "  Vive  I'Empcrcur!"  smote  the  sky  and 
we  dashed  forward.  The  shock  was  terrible;  thou- 
sands of  bayonets  crossed;  we  drove  them  back, 
were  ourselves  driven  back;  muskets  were  clubbed; 
the  opposing  ranks  were  confounded  and  mingled 
in  one  mass;  the  fallen  were  trampled  upon,  while 
the  thunder  of  artillery,  the  whistling  of  bullets,  and 
the  thick  white  smoke  enclosing  all,  made  the  valley 
seem  the  pit  of  hell,  peopled  by  contending  demons. 

Despair  urged  us,  and  the  wish  to  revenge  our 
deaths  before  yielding  up  our  lives.  The  pride  of 
boasting  that  they  once  defeated  Napoleon  incited 
the  Prussians;  for  they  are  the  proudest  of  men, 
and  their  victories  at  Gross-Beeren/  and  Katzbach 
had  made  them  fools.  But  the  river  swept  away 
them  and  their  pride !  Three  times  they  crossed  and 
rushed  at  us.  We  were  indeed  forced  back  by  the 
shock  of  their  numbers,  and  how  they  shouted  then ! 


THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT  253 

They  seemed  to  wish  to  devour  us.  Their  officers, 
waving  their  swords  in  the  air,  cried,  "  Yoricdrtz! 
Voncartz!  "  and  all  advanced  like  a  wall,  with  the 
greatest  courage — that  we  cannot  deny.  Our  can- 
non opened  huge  gaps  in  their  lines;  still  they 
pressed  on;  but  at  the  top  of  the  hill  we  charged 
again,  and  drove  them  to  the  river.  We  would 
have  massacred  them  to  a  man,  were  it  not  for  one 
of  their  batteries  before  Mockern,  which  enfiladed 
us  and  forced  us  to  give  up  the  pursuit. 

This  lasted  until  two  o'clock;  half  our  officers 
were  killed  or  wounded  ;  the  colonel,  Lorain,  was 
among  the  first,  and  the  commandant,  Gemeau, 
the  latter;  all  along  the  river  side  were  heaps  of 
dead,  or  wounded  men  crawling  away  from  the 
struggle.  Some,  furious,  would  rise  to  their  knees 
to  fire  a  last  shot  or  deliver  a  final  bayonet-thrust. 
Never  was  anything  seen  like  it.  In  the  river  floated 
long  lines  of  corpses,  some  showing  their  faces, 
others  their  backs,  others  their  feet.  They  followed 
each  other  like  rafts  of  wood,  and  no  one  paid  the 
least  attention  to  the  sight — no  one  of  us  knew  that 
the  same  might  not  be  his  condition  at  any  minute. 

The  carnage  reached  from  Schcenfeld  to  Gross- 
dorf,  along  the  Partha. 

At  length  the  Swedes  and  Prussians  ceased  their 
attacks,  and  started  farther  up  the  river  to  turn  our 


254          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

position,  and  masses  of  Russians  came  to  occupy  the 
places  they  had  left. 

The  Russians  formed  in  two  columns,  and  de- 
scended to  the  valley,  with  shouldered  arms,  in  ad- 
mirable order.  Twice  they  assailed  us  with  the 
greatest  bravery,  but  without  uttering  wild  beasts' 
cries,  like  the  Prussians.  Their  cavalry  attempted 
to  carry  the  old  bridge  above  Schcenfeld,  and  the 
cannonade  increased.  On  all  sides,  as  far  as  eye 
could  reach,  we  saw  only  the  enemy  massing  their 
forces,  and  when  we  had  repulsed  one  of  their  col- 
umns, another  of  fresh  men  took  its  place.  The 
fight  had  ever  to  be  fought  over  again. 

Between  two  and  three  o'clock,  we  learned  that 
the  Swedes  and  the  Prussian  cavalry  had  crossed 
the  river  above  Grossdorf,  and  were  about  to  take 
us  in  the  rear,  a  mode  which  pleased  them  much 
better  than  fighting  face  to  face.  Marshal  Ney  im- 
mediately changed 'front,  throwing  his  right  wing 
to  the  rear.  Our  division  still  remained  supported 
on  Schcenfeld,  but  all  the  others  retired  from  the 
Partha,  to  stretch  along  the  plain,  and  the  entire 
army  formed  but  one  line  around  Leipzig. 

The  Russians,  behind  the  road  to  Mockern,  pre- 
pared for  a  third  attack  toward  three  o'clock;  our 
officers  were  making  new  dispositions  to  receive 
them ;  when  a  sort  of  shudder  ran  from  one  end  of 


IN  THE  RIVER  THE  DEAD  WERE  FLOATING  BY  IN  FILES. 


THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT          255 

our  lines  to  the  other,  and  in  a  few  moments  all 
knew  that  the  sixteen  thousand  Saxons  and  the 
Wurtemberg  cavalry,  in  our  very  centre,  had  passed 
over  to  the  enemy,  and  that  on  their  way  they  had 
the  infamy  to  turn  the  forty  guns  they  carried  with 
them,  on  their  old  brothers-in-arms  of  Durutte's  di- 
vision. 

This  treason,  instead  of  discouraging  us,  so  added 
to  our  fury,  that  if  we  had  been  allowed,  we  would 
have  crossed  the  river  to  massacre  them.  They  say 
that  they  were  defending  their  country.  It  is  false ! 
They  had  only  to  have  left  us  on  the  Duben  road; 
why  did  they  not  go  then?  They  might  have  done 
like  the  Bavarians  and  quitted  us  before  the  battle; 
they  might  have  remained  neutral — might  have  re- 
fused to  serve;  but  they  deserted  us  only  because 
fortune  was  against  us.  If  they  knew  we  were 
going  to  win,  they  would  have  continued  our  very 
good  friends,  so  that  they  might  have  their  share 
of  the  spoil  or  glory — as  after  Jena  and  Friedland. 
This  is  what  every  one  thought,  and  it  is  why  those 
Saxons  are,  and  will  ever  remain,  traitors:  not  only 
did  they  abandon  their  friends  in  distress,  but  they 
murdered  them,  to  make  a  welcome  with  the  enemy. 
God  is  just.  And  so  great  was  their  new  allies' 
scorn  of  them,  that  they  divided  half  Saxony  be- 
tween themselves  after  the  battle.  The  French 


256          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

might  well  laugh  at  Prussian,  Austrian,  and  Rus- 
sian gratitude. 

From  the  time  of  this  desertion  until  evening,  it 
was  a  war  of  vengeance  that  we  carried  on;  the 
allies  might  crush  us  by  numbers,  but  they  should 
pay  dearly  for  their  victory ! 

At  nightfall,  while  two  thousand  pieces  of  artil- 
lery were  thundering  together,  we  were  attacked 
for  the  seventh  time  in  Schoenfeld.  The  Russians 
on  one  side  and  the  Prussians  on  the  other  poured 
in  upon  us.  We  defended  every  house.  In  every 
lane  the  walls  crumbled  beneath  the  bullets,  and 
roofs  fell  in  on  every  side.  There  were  now  no 
shouts  as  at  the  beginning  of  the  battle;  all  were 
cool  and  pale  with  rage.  The  officers  had  collected 
scattered  muskets  and  cartridge-boxes,  and  now 
loaded  and  fired  like  the  men.  We  defended  the 
gardens,  too,  and  the  cemetery,  where  we  had 
bivouacked,  until  there  were  more  dead  above  than 
beneath  the  soil.  Every  inch  of  earth  cost  a  life. 

It  was  night  when  Marshal  Key  brought  up  a 
reinforcement — whence  I  knew  not.  It  was  what 
remained  of  Ricard's  division  and  Souham's  Sec- 
ond. The  debris  of  our  regiments  united,  and 
hurled  the  Russians  to  the  other  side  of  the  old 
bridge,  which  no  longer  had  a  rail,  that  having  been 
swept  away  by  the  shot.  Six  twelve-pounders  were 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 


257 


posted  on  the  bridge  and  maintained  a  fire  for  one 
hour  longer.  The  remainder  of  the  battalion,  and 
of  some  others  in  our  rear,  supported  the  guns ;  and 
I  remember  how  their  flashes  lit  up  the  forms  of 
men  and  horses,  heaped  beneath  the  dark  arches. 
The  sight  lasted  only  a  moment,  but  it  was  a  hor- 
rible moment  indeed ! 

At  half-past  seven,  masses  of  cavalry  advanced 
on  our  left,  and  we  saw  them  whirling  about  two 
large  squares,  which  slowly  retired.  Then  we  re- 
ceived orders  to  retreat.  Not  more  than  two  or 
three  thousand  men  remained  at  Schoanfeld  with 
the  six  pieces  of  artillery.  We  reached  Kohlgarten 
without  being  pursued,  and  were  to  bivouac  around 
Rendnitz,  Zebede  was  yet  living,  and,  as  we 
marched  on,  listening  to  the  cannonade,  which  con- 
tinued, despite  the  darkness,  along  the  Elster,  he 
said,  suddenly: 

"  How  is  it  that  we  are  here,  Joseph,  when  so 
many  thousand  others  that  stood  by  our  side  are 
dead?  It  seems  as  if  we  bore  charmed  lives,  and 
could  not  die." 

I  made  no  reply. 

"  Think  you  there  was  ever  before  such  a  bat- 
tie?"  he  asked.  "No,  it  cannot  be.  It  is  impos- 
Bible." 

It  was  indeed  a  battle  of  giants.    From  ten  in 


258          THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

the  morning  until  seven  in  the  evening,  we  had  hel<$ 
our  own  against  three  hundred  and  sixty  thousand 
men,  without,  at  night,  having  lost  an  inch:  and. 
nevertheless,  we  were  but  a  hundred  and  thirty 
thousand.  God  keep  me  from  speaking  ill  of  the 
Germans.  They  were  fighting  for  the  independence 
of  their  country.  But  they  might  do  better  than 
celebrate  the  anniversary  of  the  battle  of  Leipz:g 
every  year.  There  is  not  much  to  boast  of  in  fight- 
ing an  enemy  three  to  one. 

Approaching  Rendnitz,  we  marched  over  heaps 
of  dead.  At  every  step  we  encountered  dismounted 
cannon,  broken  caissons,  and  trees  cut  down  by  shot. 
There  a  division  of  the  Young  Guard  and  the 
mounted  grenadiers,  led  by  Napoleon  himself,  had 
repulsed  the  Swedes  who  were  advancing  into  the 
breach  made  by  the  treachery  of  the  Saxons.  Two 
or  three  burning  houses  lit  up  the  scene.  The 
mounted  grenadiers  were  yet  at  Rendnitz,  but 
crowds  of  disbanded  troops  were  passing  up  and 
down  the  street.  ]STo  rations  had  been  distributed, 
and  all  were  seeking  something  to  eat  and  drink. 

As  we  defiled  by  a  large  house,  we  saw  behind 
the  wall  of  a  court  two  cantiniercs,  who  were  giv- 
ing the  soldiers  drink  from  their  wagons.  There 
were  there  chasseurs,  cuirassiers,  lancers,  hussars, 
infantry  of  the  line  and  of  the  guard,  all  mingled 


THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT          259 

together,  with  torn  uniforms,  broken  shakos,  and 
plumeless  helmets,  and  all  seemingly  famished. 

Two  or  three  dragoons  stood  on  the  wall  near 
a  pot  of  burning  pitch,  their  arms  crossed  on  their 
long  white  cloaks,  covered  from  head  to  foot  with 
blood,  like  butchers. 

Zebede,  without  speaking,  pushed  me  with  his 
elbow,  and  we  entered  the  court,  while  the  others 
pursued  their  way.  It  took  us  full  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  to  reach  one  of  the  wagons.  I  held  up  a  crown 
of  six  livres,  and  the  carttiniere,  kneeling  behind 
her  cask,  handed  me  a  large  glass  of  brandy  and 
a  piece  of  white  bread,  at  the  same  time  taking  my 
money.  I  drank  and  passed  the  glass  to  Zebede, 
who  emptied  it.  We  had  as  much  difficulty  in  get- 
ting out  of  the  crowd  as  in  entering.  Hard,  fam- 
ished faces  and  cavernous  eyes  were  on  all  sides  of 
us.  2sTo  one  moved  willingly.  Each  thought  only 
of  himself,  and  cared  not  for  his  neighbor.  They 
had  escaped  a  thousand  deaths  to-day  only  to  dare 
a  thousand  more  to-morrow.  "Well  might  they  mut- 
ter, "  Every  one  for  himself,  and  God  for  us  all." 

As  we  went  through  the  village  street,  Zebede 
said,  "  You  have  bread?  " 

"  Yes." 

I  broke  it  in  two,  and  gave  him  half.  We  be- 
gan to  eat,  at  the  same  time  hastening  on.  We 


260          THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

heard  distant  firing.  At  the  end  of  twenty  min- 
utes we  had  overtaken  the  rear  of  the  column,  and 
recognized  the  battalion  of  Captain  Adjutant-Major 
Vidal,  who  was  marching  near  it.  We  had  taken 
our  places  in  the  ranks  before  any  one  noticed  our 
absence. 

The  nearer  we  approached  the  city  the  more  de- 
tachments, cannon  and  baggage  we  encountered 
hastening  to  Leipzig. 

Toward  ten  o'clock  we  passed  through  the  fau- 
bourg of  Rendnitz.  The  general  of  brigade,  Four- 
nier,  took  command  of  us  and  ordered  us  to  oblique 
to  the  left.  At  midnight  we  arrived  at  the  long 
promenades  which  border  the  Pleisse,  and  halted 
under  the  old  leafless  lindens,  and  stacked  arms. 
A  long  line  of  fires  flickered  in  the  fog  as  far  as 
Randstadt;  and,  when  the  flames  burnt  high,  they 
threw  a  glare  on  groups  of  Polish  lancers,  lines  of 
horses,  cannon,  and  wagons,  while,  at  intervals  be- 
yond, sentinels  stood  like  statues  in  the  mist.  A 
heavy,  hollow  sound  arose  from  the  city,  and  min- 
gled with  the  rolling  of  our  trains  over  the  bridge 
at  Lindenau.  It  was  the  beginning  of  the  retreat. 

Then  every  one  put  his  knapsack  at  the  foot  of 
a  tree  and  stretched  himself  on  the  ground,  his  arm 
under  his  head.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  after  all  were 
sleeping. 


XX 

"WHAT  occurred  until  daybreak  I  know  not.  Bag- 
gage, wounded,  and  prisoners  doubtless  continued 
to  crowd  across  the  bridge.  But  then  a  terrific 
shock  woke  us  all.  We  started  up,  thinking  the 
enemy  were  upon  us,  when  two  officers  of  hussars 
came  galloping  in  with  the  news  that  a  powder 
wagon  had  exploded  by  accident  in  the  grand  ave- 
nue of  Kandstadt,  at  the  river-side.  The  dark,  red 
smoke  rolled  up  to  the  sky,  and  slowly  disappeared, 
while  the  old  houses  continued  to  shake  as  if  an 
earthquake  were  rolling  by. 

Quiet  was  soon  restored.  Some  lay  down  to 
sleep:  but  it  was  growing  lighter  every  minute; 
and,  glancing  toward  the  river,  I  saw  our  troops 
extending  until  lost  in  the  distance  along  the  five 
bridges  of  the  Elster  and  Pleisse,  which  follow,  one 
after  another,  and  make,  so  to  speak,  but  one.  Thou- 
sands of  men  must  defile  over  this  bridge,  and,  of 
necessity,  take  time  in  doing  so.  And  the  idea 
struck  every  one  that  it  would  have  been  much 

better  to  have  thrown  several  bridges  across  the 
261 


262          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

two  rivers;  for  at  any  instant  the  enemy  might  at- 
tack us,  and  then  retreat  would  have  become  diffi- 
cult indeed.  But  the  Emperor  had  forgotten  to 
give  the  order,  and  no  one  dared  do  anything  with- 
out orders.  Xot  a  marshal  of  France  would  have 
dared  to  take  it  upon  himself  to  say  that  two  bridges 
were  better  than  one.  To  such  a  point  had  the  ter- 
rible discipline  of  Napoleon  reduced  those  old  cap- 
tains! They  obeyed  like  machines,  and  disturbed 
themselves  about  nothing.  Such  was  their  fear  of 
displeasing  their  master. 

As  I  gazed  at  that  bridge,  which  seemed  endless, 
I  thought,  "  Heaven  grant  that  they  may  let  us 
cross  now,  for  we  have  had  enough  of  battles  and 
carnage !  Once  on  the  other  side  and  we  are  on  the 
road  to  France,  indeed,  and  I  may  again  see  Cath- 
arine, Aunt  Gredel,  and  Father  Goulden!  "  So 
thinking,  I  grew  sad;  I  gazed  at  the  thousands  of 
artillerymen  and  baggage-guards  swarming  over  the 
bridge,  and  saw  the  tall  bear-skin  shakos  of  the  Old 
Guard,  who  stood  with  shouldered  arms  immovable 
on  the  hill  olLindenau  on  the  other  side  of  the  river 
— and  as  I  thought  they  were  fairly  on  their  way 
to  France,  how  I  longed  to  be  in  their  place!  Ze- 
bede,  through  whose  mind  the  same  thoughts  were 
running,  said: 
.  "Hey!  Joseph;  if  we  were  only  there !" 


THE  STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT          263 

But  I  felt  bitterly,  indeed,  when,  about  seven 
o'clock,  three  wagons  came  to  distribute  provisions 
and  ammunition  among  us,  and  it  became  evident 
that  we  were  to  become  the  rear-guard.  In  spite 
of  my  hunger,  I  felt  like  throwing  niy  bread  against 
a  wall.  A  few  moments  after,  two  squadrons  of 
Polish  lancers  appeared  coming  up  the  bank,  and 
behind  them  five  or  six  generals,  Poniatowski  among 
the  number.  He  was  a  man  of  about  fifty,  tall, 
slight,  and  with  a  melancholy  expression.  He  passed 
without  looking  at  us.  General  Fournier,  who  now 
commanded  our  brigade,  spurred  from  among  his 
staff,  and  cried: 

"By  file,  left!" 

I  never  so  felt  my  heart  sink.  I  would  have  sold 
my  life  for  two  farthings ;  but  nevertheless,  we  had 
to  move  on,  and  turn  our  backs  to  the  bridge. 

We  soon  arrived  at  a  place  called  Hinterthor — 
an  old  gate  on  the  road  to  Caunewit^.  To  the  right 
and  left  stretched  ancient  ramparts,  and  behind, 
rows  of  houses.  We  were  posted  in  covered  roads, 
near  this  gate,  which  the  sappers  had  strongly  bar- 
ricaded. Captain  Vidal  then  commanded  the  bat- 
talion, reduced  to  three  hundred  and  twenty-five 
men.  A  few  worm-eaten  palisades  served  us  for  in- 
trenchments,  and,  on  all  the  roads  before  us,  the 
enemy  were  advancing.  This  time  they  wore  white 


264          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

coats  and  flat  caps,  with  a  raised  piece  in  front,  on 
which  we  could  see  the  two-headed  eagle  of  the 
Jcreutzers.  Old  Pinto,  who  recognized  them  at 
,once,  cried: 

"  Those  fellows  are  the  kaiserliks !  We  have 
beaten  them  fifty  times  since  1793;  but  if  the 
father  of  Marie  Louise  had  a  heart,  they  would  be 
with  us  now  instead  of  against  us." 

For  some  moments  a  cannonade  had  been  going 
on  at  the  other  side  of  the  city,  where  Bliicher  was 
attacking  the  faubourg  of  Halle. 

Soon  after,  the  firing  stretched  along  to  the  right ; 
it  was  Bernadotte  attacking  the  faubourg  of  Kohl- 
gartenthor,  and  at  the  same  time  the  first  shells 
of  the  Austrians  fell  in  our  covered  ways;  they 
followed  in  file;  many  passing  over  Hinterthor, 
burst  in  the  houses  and  the  streets  of  the  faubourg. 

At  nine  o'clock  the  Austrians  formed  their  col- 
umns of  attack  on  the  Caunewitz  road,  and  poured 
down  on  us  from  all  sides.  Nevertheless  we  held 
our  own  until  about  ten  o'clock,  and  then  were 
forced  back  to  the  old  ramparts,  through  the 
breaches  of  which  the  Kaiserliks  pursued  us  under 
the  cross-fire  of  the  Fourteenth  and  Twenty-ninth 
of  the  line.  The  poor  Austrians  were  not  inspired 
with  the  fury  of  the  Prussians,  but  nevertheless, 
showed  a  true  courage;  for,  at  half -past  ten  they 


THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT          265 

had  won  the  ramparts,  and  although,  from  all  the 
neighboring  windows,  we  kept  up  a  deadly  fire, 
we  could  not  force  them  back.  Six  months  before 
it  would  have  horrified  me  to  think  of  men  being 
thus  slaughtered,  but  now  I  was  as  insensible  as 
any  old  soldier,  and  the  death  of  one  man  or  of  a 
hundred  would  not  cost  me  a  thought. 

Until  this  time  all  had  gone  well,  but  how  were 
we  to  get  out  of  the  houses?  Unless  we  climbed 
on  the  roof,  retreat  was  no  longer  possible.  This 
again  was  one  of  those  terrible  moments  I  shall 
never  forget.  All  at  once  the  idea  struck  me  that 
we  should  be  caught  like  foxes  which  they  smoke 
in  their  holes.  The  enemy  held  every  avenue.  I 
went  to  a  window  in  the  rear,  and  saw  that  it  looked 
out  on  a  yard,  and  that  the  yard  had  no  gate  except 
in  front.  I  thought  it  not  unlikely  that  the  Aus- 
trians,  in  revenge  for  the  loss  we  had  inflicted  upon 
them,  might  put  us  to  the  point  of  the  bayonet.  It 
would  have  been  natural  enough.  Thinking  thus, 
I  ran  back  to  a  room,  where  a  dozen  of  us  yet  re- 
mained, and  there  I  saw  Sergeant  Pinto  leaning 
against  the  wall,  his  arms  hanging  by  his  sides,  and 
his  face  as  white  as  paper.  He  had  just  received  a 
bullet  in  the  breast,  but  the  old  man's  warrior  soul 
was  still  strong  within  him,  as  he  cried : 

"  Defend  yourselves,  conscripts !    Defend  your- 


266          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

selves!  Show  the  Kaiserliks  that  a  French  soldier 
is  yet  worth  four  of  them!  ah  the  villains!  " 

We  heard  the  sound  of  blows  on  the  door  below 
thundering  like  cannon-shot.  We  still  kept  up  our 
fire,  but  hopelessly,  when  we  heard  the  clatter  of 
hoofs  without.  The  firing  ceased,  and  we  saw 
through  the  smoke  four  squadrons  of  lancers  dash- 
ing like  a  troop  of  lions  through  the  midst  of  the 
Austrians.  All  yielded  before  them.  The  Kaiser- 
liks fled,  but  the  long,  blue  lances,  with  their  red 
pennons,  were  swifter  than  they,  and  many  a  white 
coat  was  pierced  from  behind.  The  lancers  were 
Poles — the  most  terrible  warriors  I  have  ever  seen, 
and,  to  speak  truth,  our  friends,  and  our  brothers. 
They  never  turned  from  us  in  our  hour  of  need; 
they  gave  us  the  last  drop  of  their  blood.  And 
what  have  we  done  for  their  unhappy  country? 
When  I  think  of  our  ingratitude,  my  heart  bleeds. 

The  Poles  rescued  us.  Seeing  them  so  proud 
and  brave,  we  rushed  out,  attacking  the  Austrians 
with  the  bayonet,  and  driving  them  into  the 
trenches.  We  were  for  the  time  victorious,  but 
it  was  time  to  beat  a  retreat,  for  the  enemy  were 
already  filling  Leipzig;  the  gates  of  Halle  and 
Grimma  were  forced,  and  that  of  Peters-Thau  de- 
livered up  by  our  friends  the  Badeners  and  our 
other  friends  the  Saxons.  Soldiers,  citizens,  and 


THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT          267 

students  kept  up  a  fire  from  the  windows,  on  our 
retiring  troops. 

We  had  only  time  to  re-form  and  take  the  road 
along  the  Pleisse;  the  lancers  awaited  us  there: 
we  defiled  behind  them,  and,  as  the  Austrians  again 
pressed  around  us,  they  charged  once  more  to  drive 
them  back.  "What  brave  fellows  and  magnificent 
horsemen  were  those  Poles!  How  those  who  saw 
them  charge — in  such  a  moment — must  admire 
them! 

The  division,  reduced  from  fifteen  to  eight  thou- 
sand men,  retired  step  by  step  before  fifty  thousand 
foes,  and  not  without  often  turning  and  replying 
to  the  Austrian  fire. 

We  neared  the  bridge — with  what  joy,  I  need 
not  say.  But  it  was  no  easy  task  to  reach  it,  for 
infantry  and  horse  crowded  the  whole  width  of  the 
avenue,  and  continued  to  come  from  all  the  neigh- 
boring roads,  until  the  crowd  formed  an  impene- 
trable mass,  which  advanced  slowly,  with  groans 
and  smothered  cries,  which  might  be  heard  at  a 
distance  of  half  a  mile,  despite  the  rattling  of  mus- 
ketry. Woe  to  those  upon  the  sides  of  the  bridge! 
they  were  forced  into  the  wrater  and  no  one  stretched 
a  hand  to  save  them.  In  the  middle,  men  and  even 
horses  were  carried  along  with  the  crowd ;  they  had 
no  need  of  making  any  exertion  of  their  own.  But 


268          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

how  were  we  to  get  there?  The  enemy  were  ad- 
vancing nearer  and  nearer  every  moment.  It  is 
true  we  had  stationed  a  few  cannon  so  as  to  sweep 
the  principal  approaches,  and  some  troops  yet  re- 
mained in  line  to  repulse  their  attacks,  but  they 
had  guns  to  sweep  the  bridge,  and  those  who  re- 
mained behind  must  receive  their  whole  fire.  This 
accounted  for  the  press  on  the  bridge. 

At  two  or  three  hundred  paces  from  the  bridge, 
the  idea  of  rushing  forward  and  throwing  myself 
into  the  midst  of  the  crowd,  entered  my  mind;  but 
Captain  Vidal,  Lieutenant  Bretonville,  and  other 
old  officers  said: 

"  Shoot  down  the  first  man  that  leaves  the 
ranks!  " 

It  was  horrible  to  be  so  near  safety,  and  yet  un- 
able to  escape. 

This  was  between  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock.  The 
fusillade  grew  nearer  on  the  right  and  left,  and  a 
few  bullets  began  to  whistle  over  our  heads.  From 
the  side  of  Halle  we  saw  the  Prussians  rush  pell- 
mell  out  with  our  own  soldiers.  Terrible  cries 
now  arose  from  the  bridge.  Cavalry,  to  make  way 
for  themselves,  sabred  the  infantry,  who  replied 
with  the  bayonet.  It  was  a  general  same  qui 
pent.  At  every  movement  of  the  crowd,  some 
one  fell  from  the  bridge,  and,  trying  to  regain 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT          269 

his  place,  dragged  five  or  six  with  him  into  the 
water. 

In  the  midst  of  this  horrible  confusion,  this  pan- 
demonium of  shouts,  cries,  groans,  musket-shots, 
and  sabre-strokes,  a  crash  like  a  peal  of  thunder  was 
heard,  and  the  first  arch  of  the  bridge  rose  upward 
into  the  air  with  all  upon  it. 

Hundreds  of  wretches  were  torn  to  pieces,  and 
hundreds  of  others  were  crushed  beneath  the  fall- 
ing ruins. 

A  sapper  had  blown  up  the  arch ! 

At  this  sight,  the  cry  of  treason  rang  from  mouth 
to  mouth.  "  We  are  lost — betrayed !  "  was  now 
the  cry  on  all  sides.  The  tumult  was  fearful.  Some, 
in  the  rage  of  despair,  turned  upon  the  enemy  like 
wild  beasts  at  bay,  thinking  only  of  vengeance  ; 
others  broke  their  arms,  cursing  heaven  and  earth 
for  their  misfortunes.  Mounted  oificers  and  gen- 
erals dashed  into  the  river  to  cross  it  by  swimming, 
and  many  soldiers  followed  them  without  taking 
time  to  throw  off  their  knapsacks.  The  thought 
that  the  last  hope  of  safety  was  gone,  and  nothing 
now  remained  but  to  be  massacred,  made  men  mad. 
I  had  seen  the  Partha  choked  with  dead  bodies  the 
day  before,  but  this  scene  was  a  thousand  times  more 
horrible;  drowning  wretches  dragging  down  those 
who  happened  to  be  near  them;  shrieks  and  yells 


27o          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

of  rage,  or  for  help;  a  broad  river  concealed  by 
a  mass  of  heads  and  struggling  arms. 

Captain  Yidal,  who,  by  his  coolness  and  steady 
eye,  had  hitherto  kept  us  to  our  duty,  even  Captain 
Vidal  now  appeared  discouraged.  He  thrust  his 
sabre  into  the  scabbard,  and  cried,  with  a  strange 
laugh : 

"  The  game  is  up !    Let  us  be  gone !  " 

I  touched  his  arm;  he  looked  sadly  and  kindly 
at  me. 

"  What  do  you  wish,  my  child  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Captain,"  said  I,  "  I  was  four  months  in  the 
hospital  at  Leipzig:  I  have  bathed  in  the  Elster, 
and  I  know  a  ford." 

"Where?" 

"  Ten  minutes'  march  above  the  bridge." 

He  drew  his  sabre  at  once  from  its  sheath,  and 
shouted: 

"  Follow  me,  my  boys,  and  you,  Bertha,  lead." 

The  entire  battalion,  which  did  not  now  num- 
ber more  than  two  hundred  men,  followed;  a  hun- 
dred others,  who  saw  us  start  confidently  forward, 
joined  us  without  knowing  where  we  were  going. 
The  Austrians  were  already  on  the  terrace  of  the 
avenue  ;  farther  down,  gardens,  separated  by 
hedges,  stretched  to  the  Elster.  I  recognized  the 
road  which  Zimmer  and  I  had  traversed  so  often 


THE    STORY    OF   A    CONSCRIPT  271 

in  July,  when  the  ground  was  covered  with  flowers. 
The  enemy  fired  on  us,  but  we  did  not  reply.  I 
entered  the  water  first;  Captain  Vidal  next,  then 
the  others,  two  abreast.  It  reached  our  shoulders, 
for  the  river  was  swollen  by  the  autumn  rains;  but 
we  crossed,  notwithstanding,  without  the  loss  of  a 
man.  Nearly  all  of  us  had  our  muskets  when  we 
reached  the  other  bank,  and  we  pressed  onward 
across  the  fields,  and  soon  reached  the  little  wooden 
bridge  at  Schleissig,  and  thence  turned  to  Lin- 
denau. 

We  marched  silently,  turning  from  time  to  time 
to  gaze  on  the  other  side  of  the  Elster,  where  tl:e 
battle  still  raged  in  the  streets  of  Leipzig.  The 
furious  shouts,  and  the  deep  boom  of  cannon  still 
reached  our  ears;  and  it  was  only  when,  about  two 
o'clock,  we  overtook  the  long  column  which 
stretched,  till  lost  in  the  distance,  on  the  road  to 
Erfurt,  that  the  sounds  of  conflict  were  lost  in  the 
roll  of.  wagons  and  artillery  trains. 


XXI 

HITHERTO  I  have  described  the  grandeur  of  war 
• — battles  glorious  to  France,  notwithstanding  our 
mistakes  and  misfortunes.  When  we  were  fighting 
all  Europe  alone,  always  one  against  two,  and  often 
one  to  three;  when  we  finally  succumbed,  not 
through  the  courage  of  our  foes,  but  borne  down 
by  treason,  and  the  weight  of  numbers,  we  had  no 
reason  to  blush  for  our  defeat,  and  the  victors  have 
little  reason  to  exult  in  it.  It  is  not  numbers  that 
makes  the  glory  of  a  people  or  an  army — it  is  virtue 
and  bravery.  This  is  what  I  think  in  all  sincerity, 
and  I  believe  that  right  feeling,  sensible  men  in 
every  country  will  think  the  same. 

But  now  I  must  relate  the  horrors  of  retreat, 
and  this  is  the  hardest  part  of  my  task.  It  is  said 
that  confidence  gives  strength,  and  this  is  especially 
true  of  the  French.  "While  they  advanced  in  full 
hope  of  victor}'-,  they  were  united ;  the  will  of  their 
chiefs  was  their  only  law;  they  knew  that  they 
could  succeed  only  by  strict  observance  of  discipline. 
But  when  driven  back,  no  one  had  confidence  save 
273 


THE   STORY    OF  A   CONSCRIPT          273 

in  himself,  and  commands  were  forgotten.  Then 
these  men — once  so  brave  and  so  proud,  who 
marched  so  gayly  to  the  fight — scattered  to  right 
and  left;  sometimes  fleeing  alone,  sometimes  in 
groups.  Then  those  who,  a  little  while  before, 
trembled  at  their  approach,  grew  bold;  they  came 
on,  first  timidly,  but,  meeting  no  resistance,  became 
insolent.  Then  they  would  swoop  down  and  carry 
off  three  or  four  laggards  at  a  time,  as  I  have  seen 
crows  in  winter  swoop  upon  a  fallen  horse,  which 
they  did  not  dare  approach  while  he  could  yet  re- 
main on  his  feet. 

I  have  seen  miserable  Cossacks — very  beggars, 
with  nothing  but  old  rags  hanging  around  them; 
an  old  cap  of  tattered  skin  over  their  ears ;  unshorn 
beards,  covered  with  vermin ;  mounted  on  old  worn- 
out  horses,  without  saddles,  and  with  only  a  piece 
of  rope  by  way  of  stirrups,  an  old  rusty  pistol  all 
their  fire-arms,  and  a  nail  at  the  end  of  a  pole  for 
a  lance  ;  I  have  seen  those  wretches,  who  resembled 
sallow  and  decrepit  Jews  more  than  soldiers,  stop 
ten,  fifteen,  twenty  of  our  men,  and  lead  them  off 
like  sheep. 

And  the  tall,  lank  peasants,  who,  a  few  months 
before,  trembled  if  we  only  looked  at  them — I  have 
seen  them  arrogantly  repulse  old  soldiers — cui- 
rassiers, artillerymen,  dragoons  who  had  fought 
18 


274          THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

through  the  Spanish  war,  men  who  could  have 
crushed  them  with  a  blow  of  their  fist;  I  have  seen 
these  peasants  insist  that  they  had  no  bread  to  sell, 
while  the  odor  of  the  oven  arose  on  all  sides  of  us; 
that  they  had  no  wine,  no  beer,  when  we  heard 
glasses  clinking  to  right  and  left.  And  no  one  dared 
punish  them;  no  one  dared  take  what  he  wanted 
from  the  wretches  who  laughed  to  see  us  in  such 
straits,  for  each  one  was  retreating  on  his  own  ac- 
count; we  had  no  leaders,  no  discipline,  and  they 
could  easily  out-number  us. 

And  to  hunger,  misery,  weariness,  and  fever,  the 
horrors  of  an  approaching  winter  were  added.  The 
rain  never  ceased  falling  from  the  gray  sky,  and 
the  winds  pierced  us  to  the  bones.  How  could  poor 
beardless  conscripts,  mere  shadows,  fleshless  and 
worn  out,  endure  all  this?  They  perished  by  thou- 
sands; their  bodies  covered  the  roads.  The  terrible 
typhus  pursued  us.  Some  said  it  was  a  plague,  en- 
gendered by  the  dead  not  being  buried  deep  enough ; 
others,  that  it  was  the  consequence  of  sufferings 
that  required  more  than  human  strength  to  bear. 
I  know  not  how  this  may  be,  but  the  villages  of 
Alsace  and  Lorraine,  to  which  we  brought  it,  will 
long  remember  their  sufferings;  of  a  hundred  at- 
tacked by  it,  not  more  than  ten  or  twelve,  at  the 
most,  recovered. 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 


275 


At  length — since  I  must  continue  this  sad  story 
• — on  the  evening  of  the  nineteenth,  we  bivouacked 
at  Lutzen,  where  our  regiments  re-formed  as  best 
they  might.  The  next  day  early,  as  we  marched  on 
Weissenfels,  we  had  to  skirmish  with  the  "VVest- 
phalians,  who  followed  us  as  far  as  the  village  of 
Eglaystadt.  The  twenty-second  we  bivouacked  on 
the  glacis  at  Erfurt,  where  we  received  new  shoes 
and  uniforms.  Five  or  six  disbanded  companies 
joined  our  battalion — nearly  all  conscripts.  Our 
new  coats  and  shoes  were  much  too  large  for  us; 
but  they  were  warm;  we  felt  like  new  men. 

"We  had  to  start  again  the  twenty-second,  and 
the  following  days  passed  near  Gb'tha,  Teitlobe, 
Eisenach  and  Salminster.  The  Cossacks  recon- 
noitred us  from  a  distance.  Our  hussars  would 
drive  them  off;  but  they  returned  the  moment  pur- 
suit was  relaxed.  Many  of  our  men  went  pillaging 
in  the  night,  and  were  absent  at  roll-call,  and  the 
sentries  received  orders  to  shoot  all  who  attempted 
to  leave  their  bivouacs. 

I  had  had  the  fever  ever  since  we  left  Leipzig; 
it  increased  day  by  day,  and  I  became  so  weak  that 
I  could  scarcely  rise  in  the  mornings  to  follow  the 
march.  Zebede  looked  sadly  at  me,  and  sometimes 
said: 

"  Courage,  Joseph!    We  will  soon  be  at  home!  " 


276          THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

These  words  reanimated  me ;  I  felt  my  face  flush. 

"  Yes,  yes!  "  I  said;  "  we  will  soon  be  home; 
I  must  see  home  once  more !  " 

/The  tears  forced  themselves  to  my  eyes.  Zebede 
carried  knapsack  when  I  was  tired,  and  con- 
tinued: 

"  Lean  on  my  arm.  We  are  getting  nearer  every 
day,  now,  Joseph.  A  few  dozen  leagues  are  noth- 
ing." 

My  heart  beat  more  bravely,  but  my  strength 
was  gone.  I  could  no  longer  carry  my  musket;  it 
was  heavy  as  lead.  I  could  not  eat;  my  knees 
trembled  beneath  me;  still  I  did  not  despair,  but 
kept  murmuring  to  myself:  "  This  is  nothing. 
When  you  see  the  clock-tower  of  Phalsbourg  your 
fever  will  leave  you.  You  will  have  good  air,  and 
Catharine  will  nurse  you.  All  will  yet  be  well!  " 

Others,  no  worse  than  I,  fell  by  the  roadside, 
but  still  I  toiled  on;  when  near  Folde,  we  learned 
that  fifty  thousand  Bavarians  were  posted  in  the 
forests  through  which  we  were  to  pass,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  cutting  off  our  retreat.  This  was  my  fin- 
ishing stroke,  for  I  knew  I  could  no  longer  load, 
fire,  or  defend  myself  with  the  bayonet.  I  felt  that 
all  my  sufferings  to  get  so  far  toward  home  were 
useless.  Nevertheless,  I  made  an  effort,  when  we 
were  ordered  to  march,  and  tried  to  rise. 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT          277 

"Come,  coine,  Joseph!"  said  Zebede;  "  cour- 
age!" 

But  I  could  not  move,  and  lay  sobbing  like  a 
child. 

"  Come,  stand  up !  "  he  said. 

"  I  cannot.    O  God!    I  cannot!  " 

I  clutched  his  arm.  Tears  streamed  down  his 
face.  He  tried  to  lift  me,  but  he  was  too  weak;  I 
held  fast  to  him,  crying: 

"  Zebede,  do  not  abandon  me !  " 

Captain  Yidal  approached,  and  gazed  sadly  on 
me. 

"  Cheer  up,  my  lad,"  said  he;  "  the  ambulances 
will  be  along  in  half  an  hour." 

But  I  knew  what  that  meant,  and  I  drew  Zebede 
closer  to  me.  He  embraced  me,  and  I  whispered 
in  his  ear: 

"  Kiss  Catharine  for  me — promise !  Tell  her 
that  I  died  thinking  of  her,  and  bear  her  my  last 
farewell!  " 

"  Yes,  yes  !  "  he  sobbed.     "  My  poor  Joseph  !  " 

I  could  cling  to  him  no  longer,  He  placed  me 
on  the  ground,  and  ran  away  without  turning  his 
head.  The  column  departed,  and  I  gazed  at  it  as 
one  who  sees  his  last  hope  fading  from  his  eyes. 
The  last  of  the  battalion  disappeared  over  the  ridge 
of  a  hill.  I  closed  my  eyes.  An  hour  passed,  or 


278          THE  STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

perhaps  a  longer  time,  when  the  boom  of  cannon 
startled  me,  and  I  saw  a  division  of  the  guard  pass 
at  a  quick  step  with  artillery  and  wagons.  Seeing 
some  sick  in  the  wagons,  I  cried,  wistfully: 

"Take  me!     Take  me!  " 

But  no  one  listened;  still  they  kept  on,  while 
the  thunder  of  artillery  grew  louder  and  louder. 
More  than  ten  thousand  men,  cavalry  and  infantry, 
passed  me,  but  I  had  no  longer  strength  to  call  out 
to  them. 

At  last  the  long  line  ended ;  I  saw  knapsacks  and 
shakos  disappear  behind  the  hill,  and  I  lay  down 
to  sleep  forever,  when  once  more  I  was  aroused  by 
the  rolling  of  five  or  six  pieces  of  artillery  along  the 
road.  The  cannoneers  sat  sabre  in  hand,  and  be- 
hind came  the  caissons.  I  hoped  no  more  from 
these  than  from  the  others,  when  suddenly  I  per- 
ceived a  tall,  lean,  red-bearded  veteran  mounted  be- 
side one  of  the  pieces,  and  bearing  the  cross  upon 
his  breast.  It  was  my  old  friend  Zimmer,  my  old 
comrade  of  Leipzig.  He  was  passing  without  see- 
ing me,  when  I  cried,  with  all  the  strength  that 
remained  to  me: 

"  Christian!     Christian!  " 

He  heard  me  in  spite  of  the  noise  of  the  guns; 
stopped,  and  turned  round. 

"  Christian!  "  I  cried,  "  take  pity  on  me!  " 


"HALT!  STOP!" 


THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 


27$ 


He  saw  me  lying  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  and  came 
to  me  with  a  pale  face  and  staring  eyes: 

"  What!  Is  it  you,  my  poor  Joseph?  "  cried  he, 
springing  from  his  horse. 

He  lifted  me  in  his  arms  as  if  I  were  an  infant, 
and  shouted  to  the  men  who  were  driving  the  last 
wagon : 

"Halt!" 

Then  embracing  me,  he  placed  me  in  it,  my  head 
upon  a  knapsack.  I  saw  too  that  he  wrapped  a 
great  cavalry  cloak  around  my  feet,  as  he  cried: 

"Forward!  Forward!  It  is  growing  warm  yon- 
der! " 

I  remember  no  more,  but  I  have  the  faint  im- 
pression of  hearing  the  sound  of  heavy  guns  and 
rattle  of  musketry,  mingled  with  shouts  and  com- 
mands. Branches  of  tall  pines  seemed  to  pass  be- 
tween me  and  the  sky  through  the  night;  but  all 
this  might  have  been  a  dream.  But  that  day,  be- 
hind Solmunster,  in  the  woods  of  Hanau,  we  had 
a  battle  with  the  Bavarians,  and  routed  them. 


xxn 

ON  the  fifteenth  of  January,  1814,  two  months 
and  a  half  after  the  battle  of  Hanau,  I  awoke  in 
a  good  bed,  and  at  the  end  of  a  little,  well-warmed 
room  ;  and  gazing  at  the  rafters  over  my  head, 
then  at  the  little  windows,  where  the  frost  had 
spread  its  silver  sheen,  I  exclaimed:  "  It  is  winter!  " 
At  the  same  time  I  heard  the  crash  of  artillery  and 
the  crackling  of  a  fire,  and  turning  over  on  my  bed 
in  a  few  moments,  I  saw  seated  at  its  side  a  pale 
young  woman,  with  her  arms  folded,  and  I  recog- 
nized— Catharine!  I  recognized,  too,  the  room 
where  I  had  spent  so  many  happy  Sundays  before 
going  to  the  wars.  But  the  thunder  of  the  cannon 
made  me  think  I  was  dreaming.  I  gazed  for  a  long 
while  at  Catharine,  who  seemed  more  beautiful 
than  ever,  and  the  question  rose,  "  "Where  is  Aunt 
GredeJ?  am  I  at  home  once  more  ?  God  grant  that 
this  be  not  a  dream!  " 

At  last  I  took  courage  and  called  softly: 

"  Catharine!  "    And  she,  turning  her  head  cried: 

"Joseph!    Do  you  know  me?  " 
280 


THE   STORY   OF   A   CONSCRIPT          281 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  holding  out  my  hand. 

She  approached,  trembling  and  sobbing,  when 
again  and  again  the  cannon  thundered. 

"  What  are  those  shots  I  hear?  "  I  cried. 

"  The  guns  of  Phalsbourg,"  she  answered.  "  The 
city  is  besieged." 

"  Phalsbourg  besieged !    The  enemy  in  France !  " 

I  could  speak  no  more.  Thus  had  so  much  suffer- 
ing, so  many  tears,  so  many  thousands  of  lives  gone 
for  nothing,  ay,  worse  than  nothing,  for  the  foe  was 
at  our  homes.  For  an  hour  I  could  think  of  nothing 
else;  and  now,  old  and  gray-haired  as  I  am,  the 
thought  fills  me  with  bitterness.  Yes,  we  old  men 
have  seen  the  German,  the  Russian,  the  Swede,  the 
Spaniard,  the  Englishman,  masters  of  France,  garri- 
soning our  cities,  taking  whatever  suited  them  from 
our  fortresses,  insulting  our  soldiers,  changing  our 
flag,  and  dividing  among  themselves,  not  only  our 
conquests  since  1804,  but  even  those  of  the  Re- 
public. These  were  the  fruits  of  ten  years  of  glory ! 

But  let  us  not  speak  of  these  things,  the  future 
will  pass  upon  them.  They  will  tell  us  that  after 
Ifcitzen  and  Bautzen,  the  enemy  offered  to  leave  us 
Belgium,  part  of  Holland,  all  the  left  bank  of  the 
Rhine  as  far  as  Bale,  with  Savoy  and  the  kingdom 
of  Italy;  and  that  the  Emperor  refused  to  accept 
these  conditions,  brilliant  as  they  were,  because  he 


282          THE   STORY    OF   A   CONSCRIPT 

placed  the  satisfaction  of  his  own  pride  before  the 
happiness  of  France! 

But  to  return  to  my  story.  For  two  weeks  after 
the  battle  of  Hanau,  thousands  of  wagons,  filled 
with  wounded,  crowded  the  road  from  Strasbourg 
to  Nancy,  and  passed  through  Phalsbourg. 

They  stretched  in  one  long  line  through  all  Al- 
sace to  Lorraine. 

'Not  one  in  the  sad  cort.ege  escaped  the  eyes  of 
Aunt  Gredel  and  Catharine.  What  their  thoughts 
were,  I  need  not  say.  More  than  twelve  hundred 
wagons  had  passed  ; — I  was  in  none  of  them.  Thou- 
sands of  fathers  and  mothers  sought  among  them 
for  their  children.  How  many  returned  without 
them! 

The  third  day  Catharine  found  me  among  a  heap 
of  other  wretches,  in  basket  wagons  from  Mayence, 
with  sunken  cheeks  and  glaring  eyes — dying  of  hun- 
ger. She  knew  me  at  once,  but  Aunt  Gredel  gazed 
long  before  she  cried: 

"Yes!  it  is  he!    It  is  Joseph!  " 

She  took  me  home,  and  watched  over  me  night 
and  day.  I  wanted  only  water,  for  which  I  con- 
stantly shrieked.  No  one  in  the  village  believed 
that  I  would  ever  recover,  but  the  happiness  of 
breathing  my  native  air  and  of  once  more  seeing 
those  I  loved,  saved  me. 


THE   STORY   OF  A  CONSCRIPT          283 

It  was  about  six  months  after,  on  the  15th  of 
July,  1814,  that  Catharine  and  I  were  married; 
Monsieur  Goulden,  who  loved  us  as  his  own  chil- 
dren, gave  me  half  his  business,  and  we  lived  to- 
gether as  happy  as  birds. 

Then  the  wars  were  ended;  the  allies  gradually 
returned  to  their  homes ;  the  Emperor  went  to  Elba, 
and  King  Louis  XVIII.  gave  us  a  reasonable 
amount  of  liberty.  Once  more  the  sweet  days  of 
youth  returned — the  days  of  love,  of  labor,  and 
of  peace.  The  future  was  once  more  full  of  hope 
— of  hope  that  every  one,  by  good  conduct  and 
economy,  would  at  some  time  attain  a  position  in 
the  world,  win  the  esteem  of  good  men,  and  raise 
his  family  without  fear  of  being  carried  off  by  the 
conscription  seven  or  eight  years  after. 

Monsieur  Goulden,  who  was  not  too  well  satisfied 
at  seeing  the  old  kings  and  nobility  return,  thought, 
notwithstanding,  that  they  had  suffered  enough  in 
foreign  lands  to  understand  that  they  were  not  the 
only  people  in  the  world,  and  to  respect  our  rights; 
he  thought,  too,  that  the  Emperor  Napoleon  would 
have  the  good  sense  to  remain  quiet — but  he  was 
mistaken.  The  Bourbons  returned  with  their  old 
notions,  and  the  Emperor  only  awaited  the  moment 
of  vengeance. 

All  this  was  to  bring  more  miseries  upon  us, 


284          THE   STORY   OF  A   CONSCRIPT 

which  I  would  willingly  relate,  if  this  story  did  not 
seem  already  long  enough.  But  here  let  us  rest. 
If  people  of  sense  tell  me  that  I  have  done  well  in 
relating  my  campaign  of  1813 — that  my  story  may 
show  youth  the  vanity  of  military  glory,  and  prove 
that  no  man  can  gain  happiness  save  by  peace,  lib- 
erty, and  labor — then  I  will  take  up  my  pen  once 
more,  and  give  you  the  story  of  Waterloo  ! 


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